ART  IN 

SHORT  STORY 
NARRATION 


HENRY 

ALBERT 

PHILLIPS 


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THE  AUTHORS'  HAND-BOOK  SERIES 

Art  In  Short  Story 
Narration 


A  Searching  Analysis  of  the  Qualifications  of  Fiction 

in  General,  and  of  the  Shc»rt  Su^ry  in  Particular, 

with  Copious  Examples,  Making  the  Work 

A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE 


BY 

HENRY  ALBERT  PHILLIPS 

Aatbor  of  "Tbe  Plot  of  tbc  Short  Stoir,"  and  formerly  Ataociatc 
Editor  of  the  Metropoliuo  Magmiioe 


limiODUCTtON  BY 

REX  BEACH 

Aatbor  of  -The  Bwrter,"  ••Tb«  SiWcr  Hordo."  "Tho 
No'er  Do  Well,"  eU. 


THE  STANHOPE-DODGE  PUBLISHING  Ca 
LARCHMONT,  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
HENRY  ALBERT  PHILLIPS 


>.E..TAPJ.EYCCN. 


TO 

MY  SON 

ROBERT  HENRY  SHEPARD  PHILLIPS 

A  SOURCB  OP  CONSTANT  INSPIRATION 

I  OSDICATE 

THIS  VOLUME 


268777 


OTHER  VOLUMES  IN 
THE    AUTHORS'     HAND-BOOK     SERIES 

THE  MECHANICS  OF  FICTION 

(Now  in  Preparation) 
by 
HENRY  ALBERT  PHILUPS 

Author  of  **A  Complete  Course  in  Short  Story  Writing," 
'•The  Plot  of  the  Short  Story,"  "Art  in  Short  Story  Nar- 
ration," and  formerly  Associate  Editor  Metropolitan  Maga- 
zine. 

Introduction   by   a  Famous  Literary   Critic. 

Price,   Postpaid,   $1.20 

THE  STANHOPE-DODGE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Book   Department,    Larchmont,    N.    Y. 

BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR 

THE  PLOT  OF  THE  SHORT  STORY 

An   exhaustive   study,    both    synthetical   and   analytical,   with 
copious  examples,  making  the  work 

A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE 

Introduction  by  Matthew  White,  Jr. 
{Formerly  Editor  of  the  Argosy) 

"This  hand-book  may  be  regarded  as  the  best  thing  of  its 
kind   extant." — North  Carolina  Education. 

"It  is  right  that  the  analysis  you  have  made  should  be 
made." — Sir  Gilbert  Parker. 

"One  of  the  commendable  books  of  recent  times  in  short- 
story  writing." — Hartford  Post. 

"I  read  your  book  with  the  greatest  interest." — Richard 
Harding  Davis. 

"An  excellent  book  for  the  student,  whether  critic  or  au- 
thor."— Book   News   Monthly. 

**It  is  the  best  haiid-book  on  the  subject  I  have  seen." — 
James  Oppenheim. 

"The  book  is  a  master  in  its  field." — Salt  Lake  Tribune. 

"It  is  an  excellent  thing  excellently  done." — Jack  London. 
— Nearly   a   thousand   others. 

Price,  Postpaid,  $1.20 

THE  STANHOPE-DODGE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Book  Department,   Larchmont,   N.   Y. 


CONTENTS 

Introduction       vii 

Foreword        xi 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    Art  and  Technique 15 

Symbols;  Six  Mediums;  Sphere  of 
the  Creator;  Significance  of  Re- 
pression. 

II    Literature  and  Life 24 

The  Fiction  Deluge;  Producer  vs. 
Consumer;  to  Amuse  or  to  Enter- 
tain. 

III  The  Artistry  op  Narration      ...    30 

Enter  Art;  What  is  Demanded; 
Essentials;  Movement  and  Action; 
Vividness. 

IV  The  Short  Story 36 

Cooperation;  Isolation;  Selection. 

V    Fact  Versus  Fiction 41 

Taste    vs.    Truth;    Romance    and 
Realism ;    the   True   Story ;   the   Im- 
probable and  the  Impossible. 
VI    Impression  and  Expression  ....    48 
Personal  Equation;   Reality;  Visu- 
alizing; the  Writer's  Ultimate  Aim. 

VII    The  Potency  of  Suggestion     ...    53 
Re-Creation;  Color  Values;   Asso- 
ciation and  Relationships;  Figurative 
Language. 
VIII    Beauty  and  Embellishment      ...    59 
Esthetics;  Figures;  Taste;  Reveal- 
ment;  Imagery;  the  Artist's  Vision. 
IX    The  Appeal  That  Creates  Interest  .    66 
Entertainment;  Sympathy  and  Tol- 
erance;  Plausibility;  Four  Stages  in 
Development  of  Interest 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER  PAGE 

X    The  Psychology  of  Emotion    .     .     ,    72 
Mood;     Feeling;     Passion;     Elo- 
quence; Pathos. 
XI    The  Scope  of  Imagination  ....    78 
Glamor;      Fantasy;      the     Artist's 
Right  to  Fame. 
XII    The  Power  of  Motive     .     .     ^    .     .    85 
Theme;   Morals;  Unique  Power  of 
the  Artist;  Sermons;  the  Unconscious 
Motive. 

XIII  The  Influence  of  Atmosphere    .     .    93 

Color  of  Medium;  Metaphor;  At- 
mosphere as  an  Abstract  Quality; 
Two  Aspects. 

XIV  The  Charm   of  Harmony   ....  102 

Unity;  Organism  vs.  Organization; 
Color;  Harmony  of  Plot  and  Theme; 
Tone  Effects. 

XV    The  Human  Element iii 

Life ;  Characters ;  Human  Interest ; 
Heart  Interest  and  Story  Interest; 
Naturalness. 

XVI    The  Dramatic  Spark 118 

Contrasts ;  Tragedy ;  Melodrama ; 
Suspense;  Drama  and  Literature. 

XVII    The  Temper  of  Love 124 

Details  ad  Nauseam ;  Romance  and 
Love;  Illicit  Love;  the  Incomparable 
Theme. 

XVIII    The  Poignancy  of  Effect    ....  130 
Climax;      Vividness;      Plausibility; 
Art  for  Art's   Sake;  to  Win  Fame; 
When  All  is   Said  and  Done. 

XIX    A  Study  in  Analysis 136 

A  Short  Story,  "  Sacrifice,"  Dis- 
sected With  a  View  to  Art  in  its 
Narration. 


INTRODUCTION 

MANY  books  have  been  written  bearing 
chiefly  upon  the  technical  side  of  fic- 
tion construction,  but  few  —  indeed,  if  any  — 
have  taken  a  step  further  and  undertaken  to 
analyze  and  reconstruct  the  artistic  qualifica- 
tions essential  to  fiction  literature.  Some- 
times it  is  easier  to  tell  how  to  do  a  thing, 
than  it  is  to  do  it  or  to  define  intelligently  the 
nature  of  the  thing  to  be  done.  The  literary 
craft  has  been  informed  so  often  how  it  should 
do  its  work,  that  it  seems  refreshing  to  be 
told  in  definite  terms  just  what  that  work  is. 
"  Art  in  Short  Story  Narration,"  then,  is  a 
book  of  unusual  timeliness.  Never  before 
have  so  many  short  stories  been  written  —  and 
published ;  never  before  has  there  been  such  a 
vast  army  of  tyros  —  and  such  a  great  com- 
pany of  successful  authors.  In  like  propor- 
tion the  field  for  technical  lore  and  critical 
discussion  has  advanced  and  widened  apace. 
vii 


INTRODUCTION 

For  all  writers  find,  sooner  or  later,  that  the 
more  thorough  their  training  and  the  more  pro- 
found their  learning  concerning  their  craft 
the  greater  is  likely  to  be  their  artistic  success. 
However  true  it  may  be  that  writers  are 
born  rather  than  made,  it  certainly  is  a  fact 
that  literary  workmen  win  success  from  their 
efforts  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  work 
and  study  they  p.nt  into  them.  Above  all 
things,  the  beginner  should  hesitate  to  essay 
even  the  simplest  kind  of  a  short  story  before 
he  acquires  a  definite  knowledge  of  what  the 
short  story  is  and  how  it  should  be  con- 
structed. There  would  be  fewer  failures  if 
such  a  reasonable  and  normal  policy  were 
generally  pursued.  There  is  little  question  — 
from  what  we  can  learn  of  the  average  novice; 
and  his  lack  of  painstaking  effort  —  but  that 
the  hundreds  of  daily  rejections  of  manu- 
scripts are  not  well-deserved.  There  is  al- 
ways keen  competition  among  producers  of 
slip-shoddy  wares  of  all  kinds,  they  tell  us  — 
and  there  is  no  reason  why  the  fiction  pro- 
ducer should  be  made  an  exception.  On  the 
other  hand,  never  was  there  such  a  crying 
demand  for  meritorious  fiction, 
viii 


INTRODUCTION 

"Art  in  Short  Story  Narration,"  tho  an  ex- 
cellent hand-book  for  beginners,  will  be  found 
to  contain  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  searching 
information  and  definitive  advice  for  the  ad- 
vanced and  successful  writer  of  fiction.  By 
delving  into  the  philosophy  of  fiction,  the  au- 
thor has  uncovered  a  wealth  of  material  that 
is  worthy  of  the  serious  and  frequent  contem- 
plation of  all  students  and  practitioners  of  the 
literary  art.  By  students  of  fiction  literature, 
one  might  be  tempted  to  include  serious- 
minded  readers  in  search  of  new  beauties  and 
a  new  plane  of  appreciation. 

One  excellent  point,  at  least,  that  **Art  in 
Short  Story  Narration  "  has  made  unmistak- 
ably clear,  is  that  the  production  of  fiction  has 
but  few  points  in  common  with  the  merely 
mechanical  trades  or  the  purely  technical  pro- 
fessions. Due  stress  is  laid  upon  the  inherent 
qualities  of  Art;  and  the  acquired  qualifica- 
tions of  the  artist.  A  great  service  may  thus 
be  accomplished  toward  elevating  the  craft 
of  authorship.  The  beginner  will  realize 
after  reading  this  little  book,  whether  or  not 
he  is  mentally,  emotionally  and  spiritually  en- 
dowed by  nature,  and  equipped  by  education 
ix 


INTRODUCTION 

and  fortitude,  to  depict  the  fiction-vision  and 
undertake  the  laborious  task  necessary  to  per- 
fect effort !  No  one  should  be  hindered  from 
trying  to  write,  if  he  honestly  feels  that  he 
must  and  can.  But  the  moment  any  man 
realizes  that  he  cannot  write,  he  should  stop  — 
at  least  for  a  year  or  so.  Maturity  and  reflec- 
tion may  bring  deeper  inspiration.  Hopeless 
efforts  in  literary  production  result  in  a  deluge 
of  meaningless  manuscript  that  is  unworthy  of 
publication,  an  insult  to  editorial  intelligence 
and  an  eternal  injury  to  the  producer  of  it. 


/^^. 


<(^ae4. 


The  processes  of  acquinug  a  practical 
knowledge  of  any  subject  are  always 
the  same:  Study,  analysis,  synthesis, 
comparison. 

FOREWORD 

THE  little  volume— "The  Plot  of  the 
Short  Story," — preceding  the  present 
work,  has  met  with  such  a  favorable  reception 
that  it  has  encouraged  me  to  endeavor  to  pre- 
sent still  other  phases  of  Short  Story  construc- 
tion and  analysis.  There  is  still  another 
reason,  however,  that  has  been  even  more 
tompelling.  This  has  been  the  assumption  on 
the  part  of  some  of  the  book  reviewers,  that 
I  have  been  taking  undue  liberties  with  a  cer- 
tain Divine  Right.  Writing  of  Fiction,  they 
contend,  is  governed  by  Unwritten  Laws, 
Technique  in  this  profession,  I  am  warned,  is 
God-given. 

After  most  searching  analysis  and  unremit- 
ting study  I  still  find  the  technique  of  the 
Short  Story  art,  not  only  the  most  difficult, 
but  also  the  most  leamable  and  the  most  nec- 
essary to  artistic  perfection, 
xi 


FOREWORD 

As  I  stated  in  the  former  book,  "  Plotting 
the  Short  Story  is  largely  a  process  of  science ; 
narrating  it  is  altogether  a  matter  of  Art." 
Hence  I  have  jumped  the  full  swing  of  the 
pendulum;  from  a  definite  science  to  an  elu- 
sive art. 

The  chapters  that  follow  represent  an  ear- 
nest effort  to  analyze  and  define  the  abstract 
virtues  of  Short  Story  fiction  in  concrete  terms 
that  will  make  them  both  familiar  and  recog- 
nizable to  students  of  fiction.  Once  the  great 
difficulties  of  this  or  any  art  become  appar- 
ent to  its  aspirants,  the  more  willing  will 
they  be  to  make  the  effort  required  to  master 
them. 

All  science  is  founded  on  a  working  knowl- 
edge of  its  material  elements;  all  Art  is  based 
on  an  emotional  appreciation  of  its  esthetic 
standards. 

When  we  take  into  serious  consideration 
that  all  fiction  is  Active,  make-believe  Art,  a 
manufactured  or  artificial  picture  of  life, 
something  that  never  happened  in  particular, 
yet  happens  every  day  in  general  —  why,  it 
must  stand  to  reason  that  the  mechanics  of 
such  an  art  can  be  taught. 
xii 


FOREWORD 

It  is  doubtful  indeed  that  full-blown  power 
to  create  creditable  fiction  ever  comes  to  any- 
one. It  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to  decide 
since  practicably  every  civilized  person  is  blest 
with  an  opportunity  to  read  the  matured  writ- 
ings of  some  other  author.  The  pioneers 
used  what  gifts  they  had,  to  be  sure,  but  had 
to  pass  slowly  thru  a  state  of  crudity  to 
one  bordering  on  perfection.  We  of  an  en- 
lightened age  listen  to,  read,  and  study  the 
words  of  acknowledged  masters,  commenting 
upon  their  remarkable  effects  and  marveling  at 
their  causes.  These  causes  arc  technical  abil- 
ity linked  with  genius.  Assuredly  there  can 
l>e  teachers  and  guides  in  any  calling  that  has 
a  definite  technique. 

True  Art  then  depends  fully  as  much  upon 
knowledge  and  practice  as  it  does  upon  special 
gifts  and  imagination. 

Art  is  the  acme  of  order,  and  the  secret  of 
all  order  is  arrangement.  That  arrangement 
which  is  not  amenable  to  practical  hints 
and  subject  to  law  and  order  is  allied  with 
chaos. 

To  understand  Art,  we  are  told  that  one 
must  study  it.  But  if  there  is  no  technique, 
xiii 


FOREWORD 

no  standards,  no  elementary  dissection,  how 
are  we  to  study  it? 

The  logical  steps  in  all  study  seem  to  be 
first  analysis,  next  synthesis,  and  finally  com- 
parison. 

I  am  afraid  I  have  not  followed  the  logical 
order,  for  in  "  The  Plot  of  the  Short  Story  " 
I  have  essayed  synthesis  in  the  main,  in  the 
present  volume,  analysis. 

The  foremost  consideration,  after  all, 
thruout  the  entire  Authors'  Handbook  Se- 
ries shall  be  to  make  these  books  contain 
enough  inspirational  material  to  aid  every 
class  of  writer  and  in  the  end  to  stimulate 
a  wider  popular  appreciation  of  the  Short 
Story  Art. 

Henry  Albert  Phillips. 
May  20,  1913. 


XIV 


All  science  is  founded  on  a  working 
knowledge  of  its  material  elements; 
all  Art  is  based  on  an  emotional  ap- 
preciation  of  its  esthetic  standards. 

CHAPTER  I 

Art  and  Technique 

symbols;    six    mediums;    sphere    of    the 
creator;   significance  of   repression. 

ART  consists  in  an  endeavor  to  express 
thru  an  outward  and  visible  symbol 
some  great  inward  and  invisible  truth  or 
spiritual  struggle.  Art  therefore  is  funda- 
mentally pictorial  and  dramatic.  The  mes- 
sage of  Art  is  conveyed  thru  two  of  the 
five  senses — sight  and  hearing.  Its  appeal  is 
not  sensual,  but  esthetic.  Primarily,  its  aim 
is  to  pierce  the  emotions  and  rouse  the 
imagination  and,  secondarily,  to  elicit  admira- 
tion. 

The  six  grand  mediums  of  Art  are :    Sculp- 
ture,   Painting,    Music,    Poetry,    Drama   and 
Literature.    A  certain  inherent  similitude  pre- 
15 


,    ,.  ,..  ^ART.IN   SHORT.  STORY   NARRATION 

vails  thru  them  all.  The  devotee,  student, 
and  expert  become,  sooner  or  later,  aware  of 
a  definite  plan,  a  conscious  technique,  a  sense 
of  proportion,  a  standard  of  excellence  and 
a  tendency  toward  perfection.  Atmosphere, 
arrangement,  motif,  climax  and  effect  are 
subtilely  made  to  play  their  parts  in  all. 

A  work  of  Art  should  be  judged,  not  by 
the  size  of  the  production,  the  pains,  labor 
and  time  expended  in  producing  it,  or  because 
of  any  innovations,  but  for  its  intrinsic  appeal 
and  its  technical  perfection.  Its  internal,  un- 
seen power  may  be  accorded  the  first  place  in 
our  consideration;  its  external,  technical 
beauty  will  fall  into  the  second.  And,  what 
is  important,  lies  in  the  fact  that  an  artistic 
production  may  be  technically  beautiful,  and 
yet  inspire  any  one  or  more  of  the  "  clean  " 
emotions,  as,  for  instance:  horror,  pity, 
pathos,  kindliness,  joy,  exultation,  etc.,  but 
never  disgust.  Disgust  is  the  spontaneous 
form  of  just  condemnation. 

(EXAMPLE  I,)  Horror  is  well  illustrated  in 
Sculpture  by  "  The  Lao  coon ";  pity  in  drama  by 
"  King  Lear ";  pathos  in  Poetry  by  "  We  Are 
Seven " ;  kindliness  in  {Hunt's')  Painting,  "  The 
Light  of  the  World";  joy  in  Literature  by  "The 
i6 


ART  AND  TECHNIQUE 

Brushwood  Boy ";  and  exultation  in  Music  by  Ha$^ 
defs  "Largo." 

It  is  often  stated  that  the  function  of  the 
artist  is  to  create,  in  its  most  literal  sense ;  to 
make  something  out  of  nothing.  But  is  this 
prerogative  vouchsafed  to  any  save  God  alone, 
and  not  even  to  His  earthly  manifestation,  Na- 
ture? Does  not  our  artist  rather  re-create,  his 
refined  susceptibility  ensnaring  and  etching,  as 
it  were,  some  eternal  legend  of  transcendent 
human  experience?  Thus  even  horror  is 
made  sublime  by  laying  bare  for  an  instant 
man's  soul  as  it  totters  between  human  futility 
and  divine  potentiality. 

Again,  we  speak  of  that  which  is  produced 
by  Art,  rather  than  by  Nature,  as  being  arti- 
ficial. In  Nature  we  see  man  realized  in  his 
manifold  capacities;  in  Art  we  meet  man  ideal- 
ized in  a  moment  of  singular  intensity.  We 
have  said,  too,  that  Art  is  but  the  symbol  of 
some  internal  truth  or  struggle.  Now  if  Art 
is  but  the  symbol  of  the  invisible,  how  could 
its  devotees  know  its  virtues  unless  they  rec- 
ognized it  as  something  they  already  pos- 
sessed within  themselves? 

Oh,  sublime  function  of  Art,  with  powers 

17 


ART   IN    SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

to  mirror  for  all  posterity  in  marble  and  in 
melody,  in  language  and  in  color,  those  grand 
emotions  which  thrill  men  once,  then  flit  away 
to  join  the  ghostly  army  that  haunts  the  heart 
of  every  man! 

The  artist  is  the  millionth  man,  endowed 
with  the  rare  power  of  portraying  the  pas- 
sions common  to  the  other  pulsing  thousands 
who  all  have  within  them  the  full  range  of 
human  sublimities.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  ca- 
pacity with  them,  but  of  civilization,  environ- 
ment, education,  culture,  and  a  host  of  other 
"  reasons ''  not  difficult  to  conceive. 

Art  demands,  first  of  all,  appreciation. 
The  observer,  the  reader,  the  listener,  must  be 
impelled  to  exclaim :  "  This  is  Nature ! 
This  is  life!    This  is  I!" 

The  uncultured  refuses  to  take  the  original 
premise  in  all  artistic  appreciation  that  Art 
is  but  a  symbol.  The  illusion  will  come, 
never  fear,  if  the  soul  is  thrown  wide  to  the 
impression.  But  the  uncultured  one  sees  only 
with  his  eyes,  he  can  perceive  only  the  phys- 
ical facts  and  is  deprived  of  the  spiritual 
truths.  In  the  greatest  story  he  sees  but  the 
printed  page;  in  the  soul-caught  painting  he 
i8 


ART  AND  TECHNIQUE 

sees  but  a  daubed  canvas;  in  the  sublime 
poetry  he  sees  words  forced  out  of  their  nat- 
ural orbits;  the  throbbing  drama  is  but  a 
passing  to  and  fro  of  actors  mouthing  a  pre- 
tense; the  symphony  is  but  a  group  of  fid- 
dlers making  a  din. 

Individuals  are  prone  to  favoritism  in  the 
choice  and  judgment  of  which  form  of  artis- 
tic expression  is  to  them  either  the  most  es- 
thetic or  most  realistic  Some  contend  that 
one  gives  more  pleasure,  while  the  other  lends 
greater  conviction.  In  this  connection  it  may 
be  well  to  examine  the  handicaps  that  the  six 
mediums  chosen  have  to  overcome.  Music, 
Poetry  and  Literature  have  a  yoke  laid  upon 
them  that  the  true  artist  must  lift  at  the  out- 
set or  fail  to  attain  Art.  Before  the  auditor 
or  the  reader  can  be  made  to  feel  he  must  be 
made  to  s^  —  the  picture  must  be  visualised. 
Provided  the  vision  itself  is  transcendent,  then 
the  message  is  complete  the  moment  it  is  visu- 
alized. The  soul-vision  must  construct  the 
tangible  picture. 

On  the  other  hand.  Painting,  Sculpture  and 
Drama,  being  visible  first  and  always,  operate 
in  a  reverse  direction.  The  tangible  picture 
19 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

must  lead  instantly  to  the  soul-vision,  yet  must 
not  lay  upon  it  a  limit.  By  this  is  meant  that 
great  Art  is  capable  of  personal  interpreta- 
tion, according  to  capacity  and  regardless  of 
experience. 

(EXAMPLE  2.)  As —  The  Sybarite  compre- 
hends at  once  the  message  of  Millefs  "  The 
Sower";  the  Infidel  sees  thru  to  the  heart  of 
Angela's  "Moses'';  the  childless  man  is  in  anguish 
for  Shakespeare's  "Lear," 

The  moment  that  Art  becomes  static,  or 
the  wings  of  the  imagination  are  clipped,  that 
moment  it  loses  its  emotional  appeal  and 
ceases  to  be  Art,  and  takes  its  place  possibly 
even  rightfully  among  things  merely  artistic. 

Artistic  appreciation  is  simply  emotional  re- 
sponse. We  see  ourselves ;  we  feel  the  truth ; 
we  are  sure  that  not  exactly  a  new  emotion  is 
called  to  bear  witness,  but  one  that  hovered 
within,  thirsting  for  revealment;  we  are  made 
to  enjoy  a  keener  relationship  with  all  men, 
and  to  realize  a  closer  proximity  to  the  in- 
finite. 

Art  that  does  not  admit  of  some  individual 
and  personal  interpretation  is  narrow  and  cir- 
cumscribed.   Furthermore  Art  must  be  ex- 

20 


ART  AND  TECHNIQUE 

pressed  according  to  technical  standards  ap- 
proaching perfection  and  by  means  of  readily 
recognized  symbols  of  human  emotion.  It 
should  never  be  necessary  that  the  viewpoint 
of  appreciation  should  be  strained  in  order  to 
catch  effects. 

(EXAMPLE  s.)  This  rule  seems  grossly  vie- 
lated  in  Fainting  and  in  Sculpture  by  the  xvork  of 
the  Cubists  and  the  Futurists.  The  artist  must  be- 
come lecturer,  first  explaining  what  ntanner  of  crea- 
ture he  has  portrayed,  secondly  giving  his  reasons 
defensively. 

In  other  words,  wc  have  one  man*s  view 
obsessed  by  a  mass  of  technicality.  He  dic- 
tates that  —  to  him  —  color  analyzed  is  so- 
and-so;  form  individualized  is  so-and-so. 
The  result  is  a  technical  vision  mentally 
warped  to  the  point  of  distraction.  He 
neither  expresses  nor  stirs  the  elevated  emo- 
tions. All  the  other  branches  of  Art  have 
suffered  off  and  on  from  the  same  sort  of 
neurotic  invasion  as  Futurism. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  viewpoint  of  the 

artist  has  much  to  do  with  making  him  greater 

than  his  fellows.     It  depends  not  so  much  on 

the  purity  of  hi3  vision  as  on  the  unity  of  his 

Jl 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

impression  and  the  singleness  of  expression 
that  he  gives  it.  Here  he  is  called  upon  to 
exercise  the  greatest  virtue  of  his  craft  — 
restraint. 

In  restraint,  or  repression,  lies  the  secret 
of  any  and  all  success  in  Art.  And  after  all 
it  means  being  unselfish,  giving  one's  entire 
self  up  to  the  vision  and  not  detracting  from 
its  due  by  adding  one's  likes,  dislikes  or  opin- 
ions. Again,  let  us  repeat.  Art's  expression 
and  appeal  are  universal,  not  individualistic. 

Having  once  perceived  his  single  grand 
unit  or  central  idea  and  figure  in  his  com- 
position that  shall  reveal  to  others  his  vision 
of  truth,  the  artist  must  make  every  subse- 
quent touch  subservient  to  it.  This  prime 
motif  or  idea,  with  its  attendant  emotion, 
dominates  the  color  or  key;  the  grouping  or 
volume;  the  pitch  or  climax.  Local  color 
must  take  its  hue  from  the  central  figure  or 
dominating  color  of  the  composition.  In  the 
management  of  chiaroscuro  lies  the  judgment 
of  a  work  of  Art.  Every  high  light  and 
shadow  must  accentuate  the  appeal  of  the 
central  idea  or  motif,  or  it  has  no  raison  d'etre. 
The  appeal  may  be  most  simple  in  its  entirety, 

22 


ART  AND  TECHNIQUE 

yet  be  accomplished  thru  a  teeming  mass 
of  suggestive  elements,  so  unified  as  to  conceal 
their  multiplicity.  And  such  artistic  execu- 
tion as  this  demands  both  a  knowledge  and  an 
exercise  of  technique. 

People  say  of  true  Art,  "  I  feci  that  I  could 
have  done  this  myself!  *'  And  there  we  have 
that  eternal,  deathless  energy  that  the  artist 
sets  in  motion,  which  once  created  is  endless 
and  is  capable  henceforth  of  exerting  in  all 
those  who  can  comprehend  it,  some  quota  of 
its  initial  power.  But  the  artist  must  make  it 
appear  easy  of  accomplishment  by  concealing, 
through  his  craftsmanship,  the  difficult  tech- 
nique behind  the  glowing,  motivating  message. 
The  machinery  and  engines  of  efficiency  are 
lost  to  view  in  the  work's  glorious  perfection 
and   inspiration. 

Every  artist  must  master  technique;  or  he 
is  but  an  artisan  whom  technique  masters. 

Let  us  return  to  our  original  premise  and 
keep  it  before  us  as  our  guiding  principle 
thruout  our  discussion:  Art  consists  in  an 
endeavor  to  express,  thru  an  outward  and 
visible  symbol,  some  great  inward  and  invis- 
ible truth  or  spiritual  struggle, 
23 


It  is  the  fearless  vision  furnished  by 
the  farseeing  Poet  that  suggests  and 
illumines  uncharted  paths  for  the 
groping  Scientist. 

CHAPTER  II 

Literature  and  Life 

the    fiction    deluge;    producer    vs.    con- 
sumer; to  amuse  or  to  entertain. 

LITERATURE  represents  Art's  contribu- 
tion thru  letters  and  language.  It 
portrays  the  grand  moments  in  grand  lives  — 
or  in  Nature  —  in  a  grand  way. 

Only  a  small  portion  of  the  History,  Biog- 
raphy, Essays,  Poetry  and  Fiction  written  is 
acceptable  as  Literature.  For,  since  these 
modes  of  literary  expression  do  not  come  un- 
der the  head  of  exact  science,  their  eligibility 
must  be  based  on  individual  effort  and  esthetic 
standards.  We  come  once  again  to  the  por- 
tals of  Art  and  meet  its  requirements  for 
entry:  intrinsic  worth  and  merit  of  idea, 
coupled  with  external  grace  and  beauty. 
24 


UTERATURE  AND   LIFE 

Never  in  history  has  such  a  mass  of  read- 
ing matter  been  turned  out  by  the  presses  as 
in  our  present  day  and  generation.  Yet  it 
is  a  matter  for  regret  to  pause  and  be  forced 
to  confess  that  never  has  there  been  less  Lit- 
erature since  the  printing  press  began  to  dis- 
seminate it.  For  the  only  boast  we  can 
substantiate  lies  in  the  magnitude  of  our 
"  production  and  consumption." 

The  cry  of  the  producer  is  that  ihc  con- 
sumer is  at  fault,  that  he  demands  a  certain 
"  popular  "  kind  of  reading  matter,  which,  alas, 
he  obtains.  All  the  consumer  actually  de- 
mands, however,  is  literary  provender,  and 
what  he  really  needs  is  to  have  his  tastes 
cultivated.  Our  literary  producers  have  be- 
come a  host,  and  are  for  the  most  part  mere 
dabblers  in  their  espoused  calling.  They  have 
not  that  elevated  consideration  and  apprecia- 
tion for  Literature  and  sublime  patience  in 
exploitation  that  are  the  requisites  for  artis- 
tic production.  Too  many  have  just  "hap- 
pened "  to  fall  upon  a  commercial  enterprise. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  producer  of  Lit- 
erature would  but  set  himself  to  the  task  of 
perfecting  himself  as  an  artist  and  then  strive 
«5 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

honestly  to  produce  work  worthy  of  the  name, 
he  would  soon  cultivate  appreciation  and  find 
a  widening  audience.  Readers  are  after  all 
the  masses,  writers  the  classes;  it  is  mind 
versus  matter. 

But  the  producer  of  Literature  must  be  a 
profound  student,  not  only  of  his  medium 
of  expression,  but  of  contemporary  conditions, 
the  lives  people  lead,  their  morals,  their  be- 
liefs and  their  leisure.  Only  then  can  he  hope 
to  arrive  at  the  true  basis  of  what  constitutes 
their  legitimate  entertainment.  For  true  Art 
must  never  lose  its  first,  foremost  and  esthetic 
function  of  entertaining. 

That  which  entertains  the  fiction  lovers  of 
one  generation  may  be  considered,  in  common 
parlance,  cultured  posing  by  another;  what 
is  a  normal  belief  in  one,  is  looked  upon  as 
sacrilege  by  another;  what  is  viewed  as  an 
innocent  diversion  by  one,  is  shunned  as  an 
immoral  perversion  by  another.  The  move- 
ment of  the  daily  life  of  a  people  will  regulate, 
also,  the  duration  and  character  of  their  pas- 
times. There  was  a  time  when  the  three- 
volumed  novel  served  the  leisurely  purpose 
of  the  average  reader ;  we  have  lived  to  see  the 
26 


UTERATURE  AND   LIFE 

day  when  the  Short  Story  best  suits  the  mood 
and  the  leisure  of  the  fiction-reading  public. 

The  cultured  reader,  like  the  connoiseur  of 
Art  in  any  of  its  manifestations,  can  enjoy 
to  the  full  the  Literature  of  any  clime  and 
day,  because  he  has  an  adaptable  mentality  and 
IS  considerate  and  tolerant  of  contemporary 
conditions.  The  cultivated  writer  must  know 
the  heart  of  his  people  and  be  in  sympathy 
with  his  times.  Furthermore,  the  writer  must 
be  on  the  side  of  the  good  citizen  and  in  all 
things  show  himself  a  cultured  gentleman.  He 
must  observe  the  laws  of  his  time,  as  much 
as  he  does  the  laws  of  rhetoric,  neither  allow- 
ing his  work  to  condone  evil  nor  permitting 
it  to  sneer  at  good.  While  this  is  but  a 
rational  exercise  of  good  judgment,  we  might 
at  the  same  time  call  it  the  practice  of  good 
taste. 

Literature  in  its  true  sense  being  a  form  of 
Art,  should  in  a  larger  or  smaller  degree  pos- 
sess enduring  qualities.  Thus  fiction  might 
be  classified  as  light  and  heavy;  the  former 
presenting  an  ebullition  of  the  emotions  in  a 
moment  of  frolicsome  mood  worthy  of  emula- 
tion; the  latter  conveying  a  serious  message 
27 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

capable  of  mental  and  moral  stimulation. 
Masterpieces  come  under  the  latter  heading. 

True  literary  fiction,  which  is  the  only  kind 
that  will  endure,  is  not  called  forth  by  com- 
mercial recompense,  but  rather  it  cries  out  for 
expression.  The  raison  d'etre  of  fiction  lies 
in  the  assurance  that  therein  is  to  be  a  contri- 
bution to  Literature  or,  as  we  hear  it  expressed 
more  commonly,  there  must  be  a  story  to  tell. 
Otherwise  it  never  can  be  Literature  and  has 
but  a  commercial  excuse  for  its  existence. 

A  mistaken  idea  exists  among  not  a  few 
editors,  many  writers  and  most  of  the  public, 
that  the  prime  function  of  fiction  is  to  amuse. 
They  have  confused  the  two  words,  amuse  and 
,  entertain.  The  former  is  of  a  much  lower 
order  of  diversion  than  the  latter.  One  may 
be  greatly  amused  by  being  tickled  with  a 
straw.  To  be  perfectly  entertained  one  must 
enter  into  the  spirit  of  the  entertainment,  lend 
one's  whole  mind  and  emotions  and  become 
the  intelligent  guest  of  the  hour.  To  be  en- 
tertained then  does  not  mean  passively  to  ac- 
cept the  broad  thrusts  of  a  paid  performer, 
but  to  participate  with  the  best  emotions  that 
one  possesses  in  an  elevating  experience  or 
28 


LITERATURE  AND  UFE 

spectacle.  Fiction  must  first  be  interesting, 
or  have  a  personal  appeal  to  the  reader  before 
he  will  permit  it  to  become  entertaining.  The 
writer's  chief  concern  should  be  always  to 
strike  a  chord  of  universal  interest,  which  as 
we  have  learned  is  but  the  normal  function  of 
the  true  artist. 

In  fiction,  technique  is  by  no  means  every- 
thing, neither  is  plot ;  foremost,  there  must  be 
a  vision,  or  a  story,  and  then,  an  artist  to 
portray  it.  He  must  have  the  power  to  make 
others  see  what  he  feels;  to  make  others  feel 
what  he  sees,  all  in  terms  of  common  under- 
standing. Thus  literary  power  is  that  which 
re-creates  life  in  the  dormant  emotions  of  the 
reader.  It  is  of  a  piece  with  life's  mysterious 
process,  for  wc  cannot  tell  fundamentally  how 
life  is  created.  But  we  can  show  how  it  can 
l>e  made  more  beautiful,  more  wholesome  and 
more  enduring  than  nature  herself  has  en- 
dowed it. 


« 


In  the  silent  sweep  of  the  writer's 
pen  the  roar  of  the  multitude  is  heard. 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Artistry  of  Narration 

enter  art  ,*  what  is  demanded ;  essentials ; 
movement  and  action;  vividness. 

THE  process  of  fiction  narration  is  alto- 
gether one  of  applied  Art. 

The  writer  becomes  the  interpreter  of 
dreams,  the  soothsayer  of  past,  present  and 
future,  the  painter  of  souls,  the  magician  of 
language,  the  entertainer  of  the  multitude,  the 
musician  of  the  emotions,  the  maker  of  melo- 
dies —  all  in  one,  the  artist. 

The  story  becomes  a  lure,  and  all  who  can 
give  the  countersign  of  faith  are  admitted  to  an 
inner  circle  of  life  apart  from,  yet  a  part  of, 
their  own.  In  narration  the  writer  exhumes 
buried  treasures,  he  treads  holy  ground;  yet 
he  becomes  but  a  custodian  of  the  relics  of 
emotional  genius,  passing  them  along  with 
30 


THE  ARTISTRY  OF   NARRATION 

all    the    reverence    and    respect    due    divine 
gifts  and  privileges. 

In  narration  the  reader  is  made,  presumably 
to  cease  to  read  and  come  suddenly  to  live  the 
experience  depicted.  Our  story  must  make 
the  heart  beat  faster ;  it  must  pierce  the  source 
of  tears  and  echo  thru  the  portals  of  mirth; 
it  must  grasp  the  sympathies  with  a  clasp  so 
human  (and  artful)  that  the  reader  is  lured 
away  by  something  of  the  charm  of  spontane- 
ous impulse  and  the  conviction  of  personal  ex- 
perience. The  opening  paragraph  becomes 
the  lure  of  a  vivid  dream-in-print  and  the 
reader  submits  himself  yieldingly  to  the  art- 
ist's deft  touch.  The  threshold  once  crossed, 
facts  that  merely  exist  fade  away,  and  deeds 
that  live  flow  irresistibly  into  the  conscious- 
ness. In  a  short  while  the  reader  is  made  to 
re-live  the  vital  moment  in  the  life  of  another 
human  soul  that  surpasses  daily  commonplaces  / 
and  henceforth  is  numbered  among  his  great, 
personal  moments  of  intimate  experience;  life, 
death,  peril,  grief,  joy  pass  so  close  that  their 
breath  stirs  his  hair  and  their  very  nearness 
sets  every  chord  of  emotion  vibrating.  No 
land  is  too  distant,  no  period  of  time  too  re- 
31 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

mote,  no   star  unexplorable,  no  emotion  too 
profound  for  our  fiction  artist. 

(EXAMPLE  4.)  Kipling  has  brought  the  depths 
of  the  Jungle  mithin  the  circle  of  our  reading  lamp; 
in  "  The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum "  we  are  made  to 
feel  the  horrors  of  the  Inquisition;  in  "  The  War 
of  the  Worlds"  we  hold  our  breaths  at  the  super- 
terrestrial;  in  "The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat"  rare 
emotions  find  easy  expression, 

I  In  narration  the  writer  magically  touches 
the  heart  thru  the  imagination.  His  story 
in  no  sense  tries  to  reproduce  the  illusion  of 
the  speaking  voice,  but  the  emotions  of  the 
appealing  heart.  To  narrate  is  not  meant 
merely  to  tell  a  story,  but  to  produce  the  illu- 
sive phenomena  of  actually  living  the  deeds 
that  make  up  the  story.  Every  written  word 
must  possess  some  quality  of  contributive  elo- 
quence and  suggestive  emotion.  All  of  which 
gives  some  idea  of  the  difficultness  of  the 
writer's  task. 

Narration  might  be  justly  called  the  process 
of  deluding  the  willing  reader. 

The  writer's  touch  and  manner  of  expres- 
sion may  be  dim,  vague  and  mysterious;  but 
the  impression  in  the  reader's  mind  and  the 
32 


THE  ARTISTRY  OF   NARRATION 

motif  line  of  the  story  must  never  be  any- 
thing but  clear,  firm  and  apparent. 

(EXAMPLE  5-)  This  delicate,  evanescent  quality 
of  expression  is  a  tour  de  force  with  Eleanor  Hal- 
lowell  Abbott,  "The  Sick-a^bed  Lady''  and 
"Molly  Make-Believe"  are  a  source  of  never-end- 
ing  delight  because  of  the  x^ue,  intangible  style  of 
narration  that  is  throum  like  a  gray  gossamtr  over 
the  gleaming  truths  ttnthin. 

Art  in  narration  consists  in  an  appeal  to  the 
emotions  thru  esthetic  mediums  of  lan- 
guage. The  truth  must  never  be  in  doubt ;  the 
mediums  of  expressing  it  highly  suggestive. 
To  make  an  esthetic  appeal,  the  writer  must 
be  endowed  with  the  emotional  sight.  It  is 
this  faculty  of  seeing  and  portraying  the  in- 
ternal truth  that  leads  us  to  call  a  narrator, 
creator,  as  well.  He  tells  his  story  in  terms 
of  the  heart.  These  are  the  vibrant  threads 
that  weave  any  tale  into  the  woof  and  warp  of 
humanity  and  make  it  a  tapestry  of  literature. 

The  demand  for  "  action  "  stories  on  the 
part  of  some  of  our  less  literary  magazines, 
has  put  the  necessity  of  dynamic  visuality  and 
tangibility  above  that  of  appealing  emotion 
and  sympathy.  Setting  and  character  delinea- 
33 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

tion,  in  part,  must  of  course  be  made  both 
visual  and  tangible,  but  that  once  accomplished 
thru  the  reader's  imagination,  the  supreme 
appeal  for  approval,  appreciation  and  partici- 
pation is  made  thru  the  reader's  emotions. 
He  who  tries  to  delude  the  mind  of  the  reader 
seldom  succeeds ;  but  he  who  touches  the  heart 
never  fails  to  carry  illusion.  So  much  for  the 
distinction  between  delusion  and  illusion;  one 
is  deceit,  the  other  revelation. 

How  few  that  look  have  eyes  to  see,  but, 
how  many  that  read  have  hearts  to  feel! 
Therein  lies  the  writer's  sphere,  his  oppor- 
tunity. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  the  gifted  narrator  to 
hark  back  to  the  tender  and  poignant  phases 
of  all  human  hearts. 

A  fiction  narrative  is  something  infinitely 
more  than  mere  composition.  In  a  composi- 
tion one  strives  to  attain  perfection  of  a  cer- 
tain literary  form.  In  fiction  narrative  one 
must  translate  man-alive  in  terms  of  under- 
standing, sympathy  and  conviction. 

The  two  tasks  set  in  fiction  are  to  make 
either  a  transcendental  vision  out  of  a  com- 
monplace event,  or  to  make  a  commonplace 
34 


THE   ARTISTRY   OF    NARRATION 

experience  out  of  a  transcendental  vision;  to 
glorify  the  ordinary,  and  to  universalize  the 
extraordinary. 

It  shall  be  the  undertaking  in  the  chapters 
of  this  volume  to  tell  what  those  elements  are 
that  make  the  commonplace  wonderful;  that 
make  the  plain  romantic.  In  a  word,  just 
what  the  glamor  of  fiction  is.  How  they  are 
obtained  is  a  matter  of  synthesis  and  has  been 
reserved  for  specific  discussion  in  another 
volume. 


35 


V 


The  Short  Story  is  not  correctly  a 
condensed  form,  but  a  condensed  idea. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  Short  Story 

cooperation;  isolation;  selection. 

A  DEFINITION  of  the  Short  Story  does 
not  here  seem  out  of  place. 
The  Modern  Short  Story  is  a  fiction  narra- 
tive, not  merely  because  it  is  termed  "  short," 
or  because  it  happens  to  be  told  in  few  words, 
but  by  reason  of  its  single,  essential,  isolated 
idea  treated  with  compressive  technique  and 
selective  art.  It  should  set  out  to  tell,  not  the 
history  of  an  entire  life-career,  but  the  story  of 
the  supreme  moment  in  a  given  life  or  career. 
Every  word,  every  phrase,  every  incident, 
should  bear  direct  relationship  to'  the  climax. 
Economy,  unity  and  compression  should 
govern  every  element.  The  story  should  take 
place  —  as  nearly  as  possible  —  in  one  view- 
point ;  within  one  period  of  time ;  there  should 

36 


THE  SHORT  STORY 

be  one  character  to  whom  all  others  are  sub- 
ordinated; the  one  progressive  action  should 
be  confined,  if  possible,  to  one  place ;  above  all, 
there  should  be  one  grand  climax,  or  situation, 
toward  which  every  element  moves  with  rapid, 
clean  strokes ;  and,  finally,  there  should  be  but 
one  vivid  impression  left  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader  at  the  conclusion  of  the  story. 

Like  powder  capable  of  tremendous  com- 
pression, the  force  of  its  explosion  will  be  in 
proportion  to  those  powers  of  compression. 
How  great  will  be  the  effect  of  the  climax  of 
a  given  story  may  be  measured  by  the  appeal 
of  the  story's  motif-idea,  plus  the  writer's  art 
in  narration. 

(EXAMPLE  &)  The  reader  of  "  The  Tell-Tale 
Heart,"  is  so  affected  by  the  sheer  narrative  of  feel- 
ing that  he  is  constrained  to  helietfe  the  man  is  not 
insane,  even  after  an  indisputable  appeal  to  his  rea- 
son is  made.  How  grand  and  feasible  seemed  the 
ambitions  of  the  traveler  in  "  The  Ambitious  Guest," 
until  we  have  passed  "the  slide"  xvith  its  terrible 
Power  to  wipe  man  and  his  ambitions  off  the  face  of 
the  earth! 

Writing  the  Short  Story  may  be  compared 
with  intensive  farming.    The  smallest  space 
b  utilized  with  such  intelligent  forethought 
37 


ART   IN    SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

that  it  is  made  to  yield  an  even  more  luxuriant 
growth  than  a  space  many  times  larger  culti- 
vated in  a  less  intensive  way.  The  greatness 
of  an  idea  is  not  reckoned  by  the  space  it  occu- 
pies, but  by  the  emotion  it  has  the  energy  to 
move.  This  depends  entirely  upon  its  expres- 
sion as  employed  in  narration. 

All  fiction  is  a  matter,  more  or  less,  of 
selection.  The  Short  Story,  however,  is 
ultra-selective  in  its  search  for  material.  It 
begins  with  its  very  idea  and  never  stops  pick- 
ing and  choosing  until  the  tale  is  told.  Its 
motif -idea  must  be  transcendent,  supreme,  iso- 
lated from  all  things  except  the  secondary  ele- 
ments that  contribute  to  its  existence.  No 
matter  what  else  may  ever  have  appeared  in 
the  artist's  dreams,  no  matter  what  else  may 
ever  have  happened  in  the  life  of  the  chief 
character,  no  matter  what  else  may  ever  have 
happened  in  the  world  of  the  reader  —  unless 
these  elements  contributed  directly  to  the  mak- 
ing of  this  supreme  moment,  they  have  theo- 
retically ceased  to  exist. 

There  must  be  isolation  without  there  seem- 
ing to  be.  Give  the  reader  the  heart  of  the 
facts  of  the  case  and  the  soul  of  the  truth  of 

38 


THE  SHORT  STORY 

the  matter  in  hand  and  he  will  be  both  content 
and  convinced.  Art  will  have  made  every- 
thing natural  and  in  accord  with  his  esthetic 
desire. 

(EXAMPLE  7,)  Nature  contains  no  such  isola- 
tion as  we  find  in  the  foUounng  beginnings,  yet  the 
most  sceptical  literary  critic  will  concede  that  the 
situation  is  made  most  natural:  (From  "  Mark- 
hcim")  "  Yes!*  said  the  dealer,  "  our  windfalls  are 
of  various  kinds."  (From  " The  Ambitious  Guest") 
One  September  night  a  family  had  gathered  round 
their  hearth.  .  .  .  (From  "  The  Necklace.'*)  She  was 
one  of  those  pretty  and  charming  girls,  bom  by  a 
blunder  of  destiny,  in  a  family  of  employees,  ,  .  . 

All  effects  in  the  Short  Story  are  enlarged 
by  the  substitution  of  suggestion  for  material. 
All  the  while  the  writer  should  be  aiming  at 
the  vulnerable  points  in  the  reader's  imagina- 
tion, using  darts  steeped  in  emotion  or  barbed 
with  dynamic  action.  It  is  not  that  the  reader 
forgets  the  trivial  details  that  are  not  men- 
tioned, but  that  the  writer's  art  completely 
dominates  his  heart  and  mind  with  esthetic 
satisfaction. 

Too  bald  detail  is  not  compression.  Bald- 
ness may  sometimes  make  for  force,  but  it 
seldom  enhances  beauty.  Beauty  alone  can 
39 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

contribute  the  all-necessary  qualification  of 
entertainment.  To  introduce  to  the  reader  "  a 
bullet  head  "  and  "  a  blank  face  "  is  not  suffi- 
cient. The  reader  desires  most  of  all  the  ex- 
pression on  the  face  and  that  expression  is  the 
reflection  of  the  heart,  the  vision,  the  vital 
message  contained  in  the  story.  If  it  is  to  be 
a  story  that  hopes  to  lay  any  claim  to  literary 
honors,  the  heart  of  the  tale  as  well  as  the 
felicity  of  its  expression  must  be  there.  So 
much  effective  material  must  be  contained  in 
the  brief  limits  of  a  Short  Story  that  it  may 
truly  be  called  a  narrative  of  emotion. 

This  brings  us  back  to  our  original  premise 
of  Art  production  —  more  true  of  the  Short 
Story  than  of  any  other  form  of  Literature :  — 
It  is  the  struggle  within  that  we  are  ever  seek- 
ing to  interpret  in  terms  of  the  things  without. 


40 


Facts  are  mere  static  effects;  it  is  the 
province  of  the  fiction  writer  to  re- 
veal truth,  which  is  facts  in  the  proc- 
ess of  evolution. 

CHAPTER  V 

Fact  Versus  Fiction 

taste  vs.  truth  ;  romance  and  realism  ;  the 
TRUE   story;   the   improbable  and  the 

IMPOSSIBLE. 

FACTS  arc  a  matter  of  mathematics ;  they 
are  computed  according  to  circum- 
stances and  with  certainty;  they  are  absolute. 
The  material  fabric  of  time  itself  is  facts. 

In  fiction  we  make  no  attempt  to  reproduce 
facts,  but  to  induce  reality.  With  infinite 
care  we  select  the  few  facts  suited  to  our  pur- 
pose and  then  build  a  period  of  time  all  our 
own,  with  a  series  of  contingent  facts,  like- 
wise of  our  own  creation.  Whether  or  not 
an  actual  occurrence  of  this  sort  ever  hap- 
pened is  not  our  concern;  that  it  be  natural 
and  seem  real  are  essential. 
41 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Our  mere  existence  is  made  up  of  a  multi- 
tude of  commonnlace  facts,  too  prosaic  to 
mention  outside  of  a  scientific  inquiry.  But 
our  real  life  is  filled  with  events  —  eventful 
facts  —  that  color  existence  with  sorrow  and 
happiness,  pain  and  pleasure,  ecstasy  and  re- 
morse. 

The  facts  employed  in  fiction  are  in  a  large 
measure  artificial.  That  is,  the  writer  selects 
those  momentous  events  in  the  existence  of 
men  that  represent  the  real  life  of  man 
undergoing  experience.  These  events  are  iso- 
lated and  stripped  of  their  countless  con- 
tingent episodes.  They  stand  out  in  bolder 
prominence  than  was  ever  apparent  in  actual 
existence,  as  they  are  focused  in  the  magic 
light  of  narration. 

(EXAMPLE  8.)  Who  cares  whether  or  not  John 
Jones  woke  with  a  snort  on  the  morning  of  his 
wedding  day  —  as  he  may  have  done  —  got  soap  in 
his  eyes  in  his  tub,  suffered  from  a  slight  irritation 
of  the  eyelid  the  .rest  of  the  day,  detected  a  Hy  in 
the  coffee,  spoiled  his  relish  for  breakfast,  etc.,  etc. 
But  why  did  he,  or  did  he  not,  marry  Mary  Green 
—  that  is  all  we  care  to  know. 

The  fiction  writer  leaves  the  daily  minutise 
to  the  tomes  of  the  historian,  to  the  volumes  of 
42 


FACT  VERSUS  FICTION 

the  Statistician  and  to  the  reams  of  myriad 
newspapers.  He  selects  a  single  fact,  event  or 
deed,  sometimes  in  actuality  too  small  for  his- 
tory, too  common  for  the  statistician,  too  im- 
personal for  the  newspaper,  but  potentially 
dynamic. 

(EXAMPLE  pj  HaxtHhomt  does  not  even  caU 
"The  AmlHtious  Guest,"  by  name,  yet  is  he  a 
stranger  to  any  appreciative  reader,  or  is  he  nun^ 
bered  among  men  we  have  met  and  best  knownt 
Those  wonderful  events  in  the  heart  of  the  little 
Indian  wife,  in  Kipling's  "  IVithout  Benefit  of 
Clergy,"  xvould  never  have  been  known  to  history, 
statistics  or  journalism.  Yet  what  meant  all  the 
deaths  in  India  from  cholera  compared  with  the 
inner  vision  we  caught  of  this  husband,  wife  and 
child? 

Facts  are  material  acts  and  conditions  with 
the  heart,  soul  and  personality  left  out.  If 
the  historian  throws  his  heart  and  soul  into 
his  work,  c^|jtics  say  that  he  is  prejudiced;  if 
statistics  are  colored  by  fancy  they  are  said  to 
be  inaccurate;  if  a  newspaper  voices  its  senti- 
ment it  is  said  to  be  a  yellow  journal.  The 
criticisms  are  not  unjust,  for  the  efficacy  of 
these  pursuits  depends  absolutely  on  scientific 
precision,  because  they  are  applied  science. 
43 


ART   IN    SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

But  fiction,  being  Art,  employs  facts  as  it 
employs  all  other  material  media  in  that  ex- 
quisite task  of  presenting  an  inward  and  in- 
visible truth  or  spiritual  struggle  by  means  of 
outward  and  visible  symbols. 

Again  the  artist  becomes  in  a  large  sense  a 
creator.  He  selects  a  fragment  of  fact  here 
and  there  and  re-creates  a  tremendous  fact  of 
his  own  that  plays  a  larger  part  in  the  ex- 
perience of  thousands  of  people  than  any  they 
have  known  in  their  own  Hves!  The  hour 
they  give  to  reading  such  and  such  a  story 
becomes  one  of  the  greatest  events  in  their 
emotional  history.  The  artist  does  not  merely 
imitate  or  mimic  life,  he  lives  the  life  and  then, 
through  his  consummate  skill,  or  Art,  trans- 
lates it  in  such  familiar  terms  that  all  who 
know  what  it  means  to  live  can  understand. 

Fiction  brings  the  farthest  fact  of  history 
tugging  at  our  emotions,  it  shelters  within 
our  breast  an  isolated  statistic,  it  makes  a  local 
newspaper  fact  stir  a  nation.  ^         , 

(EXAMPLE  10.)  Countless  tears  have  Hown  at 
the  dramatic  spectacle  of  "Louis  XI I*  thanks  to 
the  dramatist;  pity  rises  unrestrained  at  Kipling's 
recital  of  ''The  Man  That  Was'';  ''The  Man  With- 
out A   Country"  mignt  have  been  suggested  by  a 

44 


FACT  VERSUS  FICTION 

passing  newspaper  item  (or  so  it  seems  to  intimote) 
that  was  wrought  into  a  molten  message  for  the 
whole  reading  world. 

Fiction  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  true  story 
as  such,  since  it  has  recorded  itself  as  a  fact 
already  Aid  needs  no  further  narration.  The 
writer  who  writes  a  true  story  with  any  pur- 
pose except  to  supply  history,  statistics  or  the 
news  of  the  day,  should  claim  no  credit  for 
creating  fiction.  Fiction  has  its  own  technique 
that  ignores  all  the  traditions,  conventions, 
logic,  detail  and  sequence  of  facts. 

In  all  fiction,  romance  can  be  made  the  most 
realistic,  for  in  romance  we  approach  closer 
to  the  heart  and  recede  further  from  the  com- 
mon experience  of  the  flesh.  Pure  romance  is 
a  dAving  into  the  ideal,  draining  the  cup  of 
man's  dearest  desires,  scaling  the  heights  of 
his  imperial  fancy.  Herein  the  writer  is  called 
upon  to  materialize  man's  ideals  and  idealize 
his  material  desires. 

The  homely  and  the  lowly  may  be  made 
ultra-romantic  without  transposing  them  to  an 
imagined  paradise.  Experience  that  may  have 
a  commonplace  setting,  yet  may  rise  to  trans- 
cendent heights.    A  man's  heart  and  hope  may 

45 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

be  in  the  clouds  pursuing  his  ideal  while  his 
feet  and  daily  life  may  be  amidst  murk  and 
squalor. 

That  a  story  be  romantic  does  not  abso- 
lutely require  it  to  delineate  a  youthful  passion 
of  mutual  love.  There  are  two  other  great 
ages  of  romance,  which  seldom  involve  a  love 
of  the  sexes  —  childhood  and  old  age. 

(EXAMPLE  II,)  The  aged  revert  to  the  dreams 
of  their  youth  as  they  approach  the  grave;  child- 
hood dreams  itself  toward  manhood  in  a  serious 
world  of  make-believe.  Old  men  reminisce  over 
their  half-won  conquests  of  days  gone  by  and  chil- 
dren play  they  are  grown-ups. 

Romance  deals  with  the  improbable  rather 
than  the  impossible.  The  laws  of  fact  but  not 
those  of  probability  are  violated.  Rais*no 
doubts  and  there  will  be  none  to  suppress,  is  a 
good  motto  for  the  romantic  writer  to  follow. 

Let  anyone  pause  to  ponder  over  the  unex- 
pected things  tjiat  have  happened  to  alter  the 
lives  of  those  near  and  dear  to  him,  and  he 
will  be  amazed.  Passing  time  is  teeming  with 
cosmic  and  chaotic  facts  which  glorify,  stagger 
and  even  slay  us,  the  most  poignant  of  them, 
coming  to  be  looked  upon  in  a  short  while, 

46 


FACT  VERSUS  FICTION 

merely  as  a  matter  of  course.  Those  are  the 
facts  that  the  writer  selects.  His  course  lies 
in  imitating  the  forces  of  nature,  and  also  in 
imitating  her  skill  in  reconciling  the  minds  of 
men  almost  immediately  to  his  story,  no  mat- 
ter how  new,  wonderful  or  prodigious  the  re- 
lated experience  may  seein« 


47 


The  deepest  impressions  are  created 
by  the  more  intangible  media,  for 
which  it  is  most  difficult  to  find  ade- 
quate expression. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Impression  and  Expression 

personal    equation ;    reality ;    visualiza- 
TION;    THE    writer's    ultimate   AIM. 

THE  true  artist  does  not  try  to  create  an 
impression,  but  to  give  expression  to  an 
impression  that  has  been  already  created 
within  him. 

Thruout  his  narrative  he  must  never 
once  assert  that  this  is  a  story,  or  waive  the 
premise  that  it  is  anything  but  reahty.  To  him 
the  impression  of  his  inner  vision  is  more  real 
than  the  actual  things  of  the  outer  life,  and  his 
single  task  lies  in  conveying  that  impression  in 
its  original  state  to  the  mental  and  emotional 
life  of  the  receptive  reader. 

Success  in  literature  is  not  only  measured 

48 


IMPRESSION  AND  EXPRESSION 

by  the  depth  of  the  writer's  impression,  but 
also  by  the  depth  of  the  impression  he  makes 
upon  his  readers.  The  true  artist  cannot  be 
selfish,  and  yet  give  full  play  to  his  powers. 
In  the  spontaneous  and  sincere  exercise  of  his 
talent  lies  the  revelation  of  his  inner  vision  as 
though  one  gazed  into  his  soul  through  a  trans- 
parent glass. 

The  writer's  impressions,  thru  his  skill 
of  expression,  must  become  the  reader's.  By 
far  the  less  difficult  part  of  the  writer's  task 
lies  in  the  presentation  of  the  tangible  setting 
of  his  story.  But  when  the  writer  endeavors 
to  translate  his  impressions  of  the  emotional 
values  of  the  tangible  world,  it  becomes  a  dif- 
ferent matter. 

(EXAMPLE  12.)  That  a  tree,  or  a  river,  or  even 
a  woman  and  a  man,  merely  exist,  is  of  little  tWr 
tcrest  to  the  reader.  But  when  we  learn  that  the 
man  and  woman  are  lovers,  and  that  they  tat  6#- 
neath  the  tree  beside  the  river,  we  imbibe  a  new 
impression. 

Each  tangible  object  is  made  to  have  a  halo, 
as  it  were,  of  the  writer's  impressionism  con- 
cerning it.    We  see  things  in  a  new  light  —  his 
light  —  and  it  is  the  mission  of  the  artist  to 
49 


ART  IN  SHORT  STORY   NARRAtlON 

make  us  see  the  world  differently.  Readers 
are  made  to  feel  something  of  the  poetic  value 
of  even  commonplace  objects.  The  Short 
Story,  therefore,  that  stirs  not  a  single  emo- 
tion, can  be  said  to  possess  no  artistic  value. 

The  writer's  effort  is  not  so  much  to  visual- 
ize as  to  vitalize  his  impression.  Even  the 
scenes  described  in  literature,  which  we  know 
most  and  love  best,  are  charming,  not  because 
of  what  we  are  made  to  see,  but  because  of 
what  we  are  induced  to  feel. 

An  impression  that  is  not  deeper  than  the 
skin,  cannot  be  expected  to  pierce  the  heart 
by  means  of  expression;  for  sincere  expres- 
sion can  never  become  superior  to  the  impres- 
sion, tho  it  is  very  often  inferior.  This 
simulated  emotion  of  a  tempest-in-a-teapot 
order  is  best  known  by  the  name  of  sentimen- 
tality. 

Artists  are  not  merely  born,  they  are  made 
as  well.  They  can  only  expect  to  give  ade- 
quate expression  to  their  talents  when  they 
have  acquired  a  technical  as  well  as  a  general 
education.  Their  impressions  are  merely 
vague  ecstasies  until  they  have  learned  the 
history,  habits  and  language  of  their  fellow 
SO 


IMPRESSION   AND  EXPRESSION 

man  and  come  to  share  in  his  experience. 
Thus  sympathy  arises  from  a  perfect,  mutual 
understanding.  The  gift  of  speech  is  neither 
more  nor  less  natural  than  the  gift  of  writing, 
yet  we  know  that  we  must  study  and  practice 
the  technique  of  good  speech — or  rhetoric  — 
for  years  in  order  to  facilitate  even  every-day 
expression.  In  the  face  of  these  facts  there 
are  many  potentially  artistic  writers  who 
ignore  the  technique  of  perfect  writing  and 
give  us  blurred  impressions  that  might  have 
become  literary  gems  with  the  aid  of  artistic 
expression.  We  all  know  the  dreamer,  or  the 
man  with  artistic  predisposition,  who  has  never 
become  the  doer  by  learning  and  practicing 
the  technique  of  artistic  production. 

Long  before  artistic  expression  is  attempted, 
the  writer  should  attain  to  that  facility  which 
germinates  thought  into  its  logical  word,  as 
seed  bears  its  natural  fruit.  Thus  the  results 
and  never  the  processes  of  technique  are  made 
to  become  forcefully  apparent.  Thus  too  the 
reader,  thru  the  perfect  ease  and  readiness  with 
which  he  feels  and  follows  the  tale,  is  filled 
with  an  involuntary  idea  that  he  has  contrib- 
uted to  and  shares  in  the  success  of  the  story. 
51 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

The  ultimate  aim  of  the  writer  is  not  to  see 
how  much  he  can  cram  into  his  mind,  but  how 
much  the  reader  can  get  out  of  his  own  soul 
and  imagination.  Impressions  worthy  of  ex- 
pression concern  themselves  with  esthetic 
truths,  not  trite  facts.  All  the  trained  writer 
needs  is  a  dictionary,  a  library  and  impressions 
to  stir  his  imagination. 

Enthusiasm  is  as  troublesome  as  it  is  neces- 
sary to  the  artistic  worker;  it  demands  a  con- 
stant exercise  of  repression.  The  wheat  must 
be  separated  from  the  chaff.  Words,  details 
and  facts  spring  up  like  weeds  and  brushwood, 
choking  the  growth  of  the  single  resplendent 
flower  of  his  impression  from  attaining  luxuri- 
ant expression.  He  needs  poignant  details 
only.  The  characteristics  he  selects  to  deline- 
ate are  those  that  many  see,  few  remember, 
but  all  can  feel.  He  seeks  to  express,  not  so 
much  the  objects  that  stand  out  before  the 
eyes,  as  the  elements  that  penetrate  the  heart 
and  stir  the  emotions;  the  essentials;  the  in- 
ternal truths. 


52 


The  Short  Story  in  its  very  brevity 
must  suggest  the  unplutnbed  depth  of 
human  emotion  a»id  the  boundless 
breadth  of  human  experience. 

CHAPTER  VII 

The  Potency  of  Suggestion 

re-creation  ;  color  values ;  assoclation  and 
relationships;  figurative  language. 

IN  the  discussion  of  suggestion  we  probe 
the  very  heart  of  all  literary  endeavor. 

No  matter  how  prolific  may  be  the  idea  that 
leads  to  the  vision  of  the  writer,  or  how  grand 
the  vision  itself,  or  how  letter-perfect  the  tech- 
nique employed  in  expression,  unless  the  liter- 
ary product  contains  well-defined  elements  of 
suggestive  matter  which  form  a  bond  of  sym- 
pathetic understanding  with  the  reader,  it  can 
lay  no  claim  to  Art 

In  a  word,  the  writer  must  bring  his  story- 
message  "  home  "  to  the  reader. 

This  does  not  necessarily  mean  that  there 
must  be  some  allusion  to  an  actual  incident  of 
53 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

the  reader's  every-day  experience,  but  rather 
to  an  episode  within  his  ken,  a  f amiHar  groove 
in  his  emotions,  an  assembly  call  to  the  sen- 
tinels of  his  imagination,  an  appeal  to  reminis- 
cence, or  to  dreams  of  the  future.  The  story 
is  but  a  magic  mirror  into  which  the  reader 
either  peers  and  sees  the  very  image  of  his 
most  dear  or  most  dreaded  self,  or  steps  inside 
as  within  a  door  and  bears  company  to  one  of 
his  choice  moods  in  a  delicious  super-expe- 
rience. 

An  illuminating  synonym  for  suggestion  is 
the  word,  re-creation.  It  is  the  artist  again 
at  his  delightful  task  of  rousing  the  dormant 
potentialities  within  us  to  mental  and  emo- 
tional participation.  As  all  knowledge  is  more 
or  less  dependent  on  a  recognition  of  relation- 
ships, so  the  powers  within  us  bear  fruit  only 
when  relative  suggestion  is  brought  to  sun 
upon  them. 

The  substance  then  of  all  suggestion  is  the 
effective  employment  of  familiar  associations 
and  well-known  relationships. 

Suggestion  in  the  Short  Story  must  be  emi- 
nently potential;  every  word,  every  phrase, 
every  paragraph  must  be  developed  to  the  n-th 
54 


THE  POTENCY  OF  SUGGESTION 

power  in  the  imagination  and  emotions  of  the 
reader.  The  bond  of  sympathetic  association 
brings  each  incident  within  the  circle  of  the 
reader's  personal  concern.  The  burden  of 
proof,  thruout,  however,  lies  with  the 
writer;  the  reader  can  promise  nothing  but 
acquiescence  and  a  modicum  of  patience. 

There  are  various  ways  in  which  suggestion 
should  operate  and  various  means  employed 
in  producing  it. 

(EXAMPLE  JS)  Richard  Harding  Davis  had 
arrived  at  a  sinister  portion  of  his  story  when  he 
described  Tangier  as  "  lying  below  him  like  a  great 
cemetery  of  white  marble";  and  Hawthorne  fore- 
casts  the  tragedy  of  his  hero  when  he  introduces 
him:  "His  face  wore  the  melancholy  expression, 
almost  despondency,  of  one  who  travels  a  wild  and 
bleak  road,  at  nightfall  and  alone,  .  •  ." 

Convincing  suggestion  is  never  isolated  and 
brazen,  for  then  it  would  neither  contain  Art 
nor  preserve  illusion.  Its  entrance  into  the 
narrative  is  subtle,  unassuming  and  unostenta- 
tious. It  is  a  piece  of  the  Short  Story  itself, 
and  not  a  glaring  patch  in  the  fabric.  Here 
and  there  we  find  a  word  artfully  employed 
that  suggests  a  world  of  color  and  feeling; 
55 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

now  it  IS  a  phrase  that  reveals  an  unguessed 
trait  of  character;  or  again  we  find  a  strong 
character  who  suggests  a  poignant  strain  of 
reminiscence ;  or  a  bewitching  atmosphere  that 
awakens  a  delightful  mood;  or  a  description 
that  re-creates  a  picture  we  have  seen  in  our 
dreams.  And  the  glory  of  this  induced  re- 
ality lies  in  its  quality  of  a  supernal  experience. 
The  world  owes  much  happiness  indeed  to  the 
literary  craft. 

Suggestion,  then,  as  we  have  just  shown,  is 
not  necessarily  implied  thru  figures  of 
speech.  The  writer  may  concentrate  his  en- 
tire artfulness  in  making  the  story,  as  a  whole, 
suggestive  of  a  particular  phase  in  life. 

(EXAMPLE  14.)  The  suggestion  to  try  to  per- 
form some  Christian  service  during  Christmastide 
is  so  strongly  impressed  on  one,  after  reading  ''  The 
Christmas  Carol!'  that  it  becomes  nothing  short  of 
an  impulse;  the  suggestion  of  human  brotherhood  is 
so  powerful,  upon  reading  "  The  Outcasts  of  Poker 
Flat''  that  an  aristocrat,  or  a  Levite,  might  be  im- 
pelled to  clasp  the  hand  of  a  pariah. 

The  function  of  figurative  language  is  to 
make  us  see  the  object  we  know  slightly 
thru  its  artful  juxtaposition  with  the  ob- 
ject we  know  well.     This  arrangement  alone 

56 


THE  POTENCY  OF  SUGGESTION 

can  make  the  picture  live.  And  it  must  not 
include  merely  all  we  can  see  thru  an  ex- 
citement of  the  optic  nerve,  for  then  the  longer 
we  look  the  less  we  see.  Even  the  visual  pic- 
tures suggested,  must  in  turn  suggest  the 
grander  vision  beyond,  which  has  its  seat  in 
the  emotions  and  in  the  imagination. 

Verbal  photographs  occupy  much  the  same 
place  in  literary  art  as  camera  photographs  do 
in  pictoria]  art.  If  it  is  merely  a  transcription 
of  an  actual  scene,  without  being  in  any  way 
enhanced  or  changed  by  the  operator  or  writer, 
then  the  scene  must  contain  intrinsic  artistic 
merits  to  which  the  portrayer  can  lay  no  par- 
ticular claim.  But,  if  a  catalogue  or  inventory 
is  all  that  is  needed,  there  are  those  who  can 
do  this  work  better  than  artists.  Photographs 
are  noted  for  their  harsh  tones,  sharp  lines  and 
cold  details ;  works  of  art  are  famous  for  their 
vivid  reality  and  warm  and  flaming  poignancy. 

Verisimilitude  and  not  verity  is  the  aim  of 
the  fiction  writer.  The  former  is  but  another 
name  for  fiction ;  the  latter  an  interchangeable 
word  for  fact. 

There  is  a  marked  similarity  between  short- 
story  narration  and  poetical  composition,  in 
57 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

that  they  both  compress  and  suggest  a  universe 
within  their  limits.  The  differentiation  is  that 
short-story  suggestion  is  extensive,  while  that 
of  poetry  is  intensive  and  melodic. 

(EXAMPLE  15,)  Only  the  poet  in  his  narrative 
dares  make  his  statement  as  intensive  as  Poe  de- 
scribes the  love  of  Annabel  Lee: 

"  With  a  love  that  the  zvinged  seraphs  of  heaven 
Coveted  her  me" 
Almost  the  same  sentiment  is  described  in  prose 
by  the  same  author,  in  " Ligeia"  :  ''That  she  loved 
me  I  should  not  have  doubted;  and  I  might  have 
been  easily  aware  that,  in  a  bosom  such  as  hers, 
love  would  have  reigned  no  ordinary  passion." 

In  the  Short  Story,  therefore,  both  selection 
and  suggestion  play  the  vital  parts.  Selection 
seeks  out  the  natural  fitness  of  material,  while 
suggestion  employs  its  task  of  visualizing  the 
spiritual  and  forming  a  definite  impression  in 
the  reader's  mind.  In  order,  however,  to  per- 
fect, thru  suggestion,  those  outward  and 
visible  signs  of  the  inward  and  spiritual  strug- 
gle, the  writer  must  himself,  thru  sym- 
pathy, come  to  share  the  instincts  and 
universal  heart  secrets  of  mankind. 


S8 


Every  beautiful  passage  in  the  Short 
Story  fntist  be  useful  as  well. 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Beauty  and  Embellishment 

esthetics;    figures;    taste;    revealment; 
imagery;  the  artist's  vision. 

BEAUTY  in  fiction  is  dependent  on  an  in- 
nate sensitiveness  of  conception  and  a 
masterful  yet  delicate  execution. 

The  esthetic  quality  of  fiction  must  be  in- 
tegral;—  intrinsic,  structural  and  effectual. 
While  the  beauty  may  be  capable  of  analysis, 
yet  no  one  i)ortion  may  be  said  to  constitute  it 
wholly.  The  standard  of  beauty  is  perfection 
itself,  and  a  work  of  artistic  fiction  is  meas- 
ured by  its  approximation  of  this  requisite. 
The  writer's  vision,  motif  and  technique,  and 
the  effect  upon  the  reader  must  each  contribute 
its  esthetic  quota. 

There  are  those  who  may  presume  to  quar- 
rel with  this  inclusive  definition  of  fiction's  re- 
quirements of  beauty.  They  will  probably  re- 
59 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

fer  to  many  of  the  greatest  stories  written  by 
acknowledged  masters  of  fiction  and  point  out 
that  the  phases  of  life  chosen  by  them  for  de- 
piction were  not  essentially  beautiful.  Where- 
upon we  must,  arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  the 
artist  and  the  writer  are  privileged  to  choose 
from  whatsoever  they  please  in  all  the  range 
of  human  frailty  and  experience.  We  find 
that  the  most  powerful  stories  filling  our  vol- 
umes of  every  age  are  colored  by  crime  and 
battle,  sorrow  and  suffering,  derangement  and 
death. 

(EXAMPLE  1 6.)  The  following  representative 
group  of  acknomledged  artistic  stories  illustrate  the 
matter  of  choice  in  the  story  material:  "  The  Sub- 
stitute" by  Coppee;  "  The  Necklace'/  by  de  Mau- 
passant; " Markheim''  by  Stevenson;  " The  Man 
Who  Was"  by  Kipling. 

The  test  comes  in  the  artist's  presentment. 
We  have  but  to  examine  his  vision,  his  motif, 
his  technique  and  the  effect  left  in  our  hearts 
and  minds.  In  other  words,  we  look  upon  his 
chosen  subject  as  he  sees  and  treats  it,  and  not 
as  it  stands  by  itself,  or  as  we  choose  to  con- 
sider it.  Whosoever  our  writer  be,  if  he  re- 
vels in  licentiousness,  condones  crime,  sneers 
60 


BEAUTY  AND  EMBELLISHMENT 

at  sorrow  or  desecrates  death,  he  is  far  from 
being  an  artist. 

Again  we  find  the  world  owing  the  artist  a 
great  debt  He  takes  the  ugliest  fatalities  of 
life  and  reveals  the  shining  beauties  that  lie 
concealed  within  their  somber  depths.  With 
the  ancient  poet,  he  exclaims,  "  Oh,  Death, 
where  is  thy  sting?  Oh,  Grave,  where  is  thy 
victory?"  Thru  the  glory  of  his  vision  a 
hero  is  made  to  shine  above  the  carnage  of 
battle;  virtue  is  made  to  purify  the  stain  of 
crime;  sympathy  is  roused  to  soften  sorrow; 
a  healing  calm  grows  out  of  derangement  and 
suffering;  an  angel  of  promise  rises  beside  the 
figure  of  grim  death. 

Furthermore,  an  antithesis  is  strangely  in- 
duced thru  the  artist's  realistic  rcvealmcnt 
of  the  more  unpleasant  sides  of  life.  The  mo- 
ment the  reader  is  released  from  the  immedi- 
ate thrall  of  the  artist  and  his  portrayal  of 
pain,  grief,  bereavement,  misadventure,  peril, 
or  what  not,  he  is  filled  with  a  pleasing  sense 
of  his  own  security  and  a  divorcement  and  iso- 
lation from  the  imagined  conditions.  Yet  in 
that  very  moment  he  may  be  wiping  away  tears 
over  the  tragedy,  shuddering  at  the  spectacle, 
6i 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

or  shrinking  from  its  brutality.  It  shows  the 
difference  between  reality  and  realism;  the 
former  affects  the  senses  first,  passing  thence 
to  the  imaginations  and  emotions;  the  latter 
directly  attacks  the  emotions  thru  the  imag- 
ination and  then  assaults  the  senses.  All  of 
which  dispels  the  fallacy  of  "  the  tired  busi- 
ness man ''  who  shuns  all  forms  of  artistic  en- 
tertainment and  seeks  amusement  that  does  not 
demand  mental  or  emotional  participation. 
Artistic  entertainment  alone  contains  the  ele- 
ments of  recreation,  and  it  is  re-creation  only 
that  he  needs  to  dispel  physical  fatigue  and 
mental  worry.  The  lower  form  of  amusement 
is  oftentimes  below  the  par  of  his  intelligence 
and  acts  merely  as  a  stimulant  and,  like  all 
stimulants,  exacts  a  penalty  in  reaction. 

Thus  we  never  should  be  in  doubt  of  the 
beauty  of  the  true  artist's  vision,  no  matter 
what  the  theme  of  the  story.  He  must  be  en- 
dowed, however,  with  a  natural  taste  for  the 
esthetic  and  equipped  with  a  talent  for  em- 
bellishment. There  are  isolated  exceptions, 
consistent  with  the  flaw  in  all  human  fabric, 
which  prove  the  rule. 

62 


BEAUTY  AND  EMBELLISHMENT 

(EXAMPLE  17.)  Thus  we  Und  de  Maupassant 
frequently  offending  good  taste  with  his  licentious- 
ness; Poe  sacrificing  beauty  to  an  over-indulgence 
in  horror;  O.  Henry  marring  rhetorical  and  tech- 
nical perfection  by  his  indifferent  and  colloquial 
English, 

Embellishment  is  the  normal  exercise  of  the 
imagination  in  giving  fitting  expression  to 
pictorial  thought.  It  is  but  a  tool  and  talent 
to  be  used  cunningly,  economically  and  hon- 
estly by  the  creative  hand.  It  must  savor  the 
plainest  commodity  of  thought  to  the  gusto 
of  the  most  refined  imagination  and  emotions. 

In  embellishing  the  unvarnished  truth,  we 
cater  not  only  to  the  esthetic  appetite,  but  also 
strengthen  the  limited  reserve  force  of  one's 
average  powers  of  attention.  For  instance, 
we  can  watch  soldiers  in  uniform,  and 
equipped  with  the  suggestive  trappings  of  war, 
march  past  by  the  hour;  whereas,  parading 
civilians  in  a  short  while  become  tedious  to 
the  mind.  One  is  entertainment;  the  other 
is  mental  effort  without  emotional  recom- 
pense. 

In  the  practice  of  embellishment  repression 
again  becomes  the   writer's  only   safeguard* 

63 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

It  is  seldom  that  prose  can  bear  the  full  lux- 
uriance of  poetic  treatment.  For  in  every 
word  and  syllable  and  accent  of  poetry  we 
expect  rhythmic  beauty;  the  fabric  of  verse 
is  saturated  with  it;  that  alone  can  sustain 
its  exalted  utterance. 

{EXAMPLE  i8.)  ''Apollo's  upward  fire 

Made   every   eastern   cloud  a  silvery  pyre 
Of  brightness  so  unsullied,  that  therein 
A  melancholy  spirit  well  might  win 
Oblivion,  .  ,  ,  "  shows  the  lush  imagery  of  Keats, 

In  fiction,  however,  such  imagery  would 
cloy  some  of  the  other  vital  requisites  with 
which  beauty  must  share  in  its  expression. 
The  movement  of  poetry  is  too  conducive 
to  deliberateness ;  its  maze  of  imagery  forbids 
rapid  perusal ;  its  very  lavishness  is  suggestive 
of  unmeasured  leisure.  But  in  fiction  we  find 
more  of  the  Spartan  than  the  Sybarite  quali- 
ties. We  have  seen  that  practically  no  sub- 
ject-matter is  tabooed  in  fiction  and  that 
always  beauty  is  perfected  thru  deeds. 
There  must  be  dispatch,  dramatic  force, 
action.  Words  must  be  dynamic  as  well  as 
esthetic;  treatment  must  be  dramatic  as  well 
as  imaginative;  the  effect  should  be  awaken- 

64 


BEAUTY  AND  EMBELXJSHMENT 

ing  and  exciting  rather  than  somnolent  and 
soothing. 

When  all  is  said  and  done  the  vision  is  the 
thing.  That  vision  which  the  artist  sees  must 
be  passed  on  to  his  reader  by  means  of  not 
unlovely  symbols  and  must  be  acclaimed  by 
him  beautiful.  The  essential  point  is  that 
good  fiction  re-creates  within  the  reader's 
breast  beautiful  emotions,  noble  desires,  ele- 
vating thoughts,  enthralling  aspirations  that 
not  infrequently  lead  to  better  living  and 
ideal  deeds. 


6s 


The  instant  the  writer  finds  the 
point  of  contact  between  himself 
and  his  reader  he  creates  the  element 
known  as  interest. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  Appeal  That  Creates  Interest 

entertainment;  sympathy  and  toler- 
ance; plausibility;  four  stages  in  de- 
velopment OF  interest. 

THE  fact  that  a  prospective  reader 
scans  the  title  or  the  opening  lines  of 
a  story  is  a  guarantee  of  attention.  Atten- 
tion is  not  sufficient,  however;  there  must  be 
participation.  At  the  very  outset,  the  reader 
must  be  something  more  than  merely  recep- 
tive; he  must  contribute  a  modicum  of  emo- 
tion, and  in  so  doing  he  becomes  interested. 
Fiction,  however,  in  its  bid  for  interest,  is 
subject  to  the  same  laws  that  govern  all  inter- 
communication. It  must  contain  a  laudable 
appeal  that  attracts  the  personal  concern  of 
66 


THE  APPEAL  THAT  CREATES  INTEREST 

the  reader.     His  interest  is  inseparable  from 
his  interests. 

(EXAMPLE  19.)  People  xvill  stop  in  the  street 
by  the  hundreds,  alxvays  willing  to  lend  their  atten- 
tion to  what  appears  to  be  unusual  and  promises  to 
interest  them.  The  moment  they  are  convinced  that 
the  incident  holds  no  interest  for  them,  they  pass 
on  and  forget  it. 

Thus  the  writer  of  fiction  finds  himself  con- 
fronted with  rather  an  extraordinary  problem. 
He  must  write  about  something  that  will  in- 
terest a  multitude  of  people ;  strangers  to  him, 
young  and  old,  men  and  women,  rich  and 
poor,  cultured  and  uncultured,  happy  and 
discontented.  He  must  tell  them  something 
that  will  awaken  a  quick  emotional  response. 
In  other  words,  he  must  entertain  the  multi- 
tude. Only  the  artist  can  accomplish  such  a 
feat  as  this. 

What  chance  has  the  writer  to  address  en- 
tertainingly and  successfully  the  collective 
mental  range  of  the  polyglot  multitude  ?  Even 
in  educational  work  there  must  be  a  progres- 
sive grading,  with  individual  limitations  all 
along  the  line.  But  the  artist  is  a  dealer  in 
emotions   and   employs   mentality   only   as   a 

67 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

means  to  an  end.  There  is  a  certain  univer- 
sality of  heart  interest,  wherein  lies  the  se- 
cret of  all  Fine  Art  appeal. 

Once  the  writer  makes  his  story  interesting 
and  plausible,  the  reader  will  not  ask  scientific 
questions.  The  element  of  plausibility  is  one 
of  the  most  potent  devices  of  appeal. 

(EXAMPLE  20.)  Halevy  in  opening  the  story 
of  "  The  Insurgent!'  makes  the  tale  seem  so  much 
a  fact  that  its  very  plausibility  lures  the  reader  into 
following  the  opening  incident  to  its  culmination: 
"Prisoner/^  said  the  president  of  the  military  tri- 
bunal, "have  you  anything  to  add  in  your  own  de- 
fense?" 

In  fiction  the  mere  interest  of  the  reader 
from  beginning  to  end  is  scarcely  enough  to 
warrant  its  production.  There  must  be  a 
stronger  outpouring  of  emotion  elicited. 
There  must  rise,  at  the  will  of  the  artist  be- 
hind the  pen,  unrestrained  sympathy  or  hearty 
indignation,  and  ultimate  satisfaction. 

A  man  cannot  pass  by  a  brother  in  distress ; 
he  is  impatient  to  give  a  helping  hand  to  bring 
a  criminal  either  to  retribution  or  to  justice; 
he  is  curious  to  know  how  a  cultured  beggar 
lost  his  social  equilibrium;  he  will  travel 
68 


THE  APPEAL  THAT  CREATES  INTEREST 

thru  a  story  to  see  an  act  of  mercy;  he  will 
unconsciously  lean  a  little  closer  to  hear  a  tale 
of  the  man  who  was.  These  are  a  few  of 
the  infinitesimal  sympathy-lures  of  the  human 
heart.  The  writer  who  can  not  only  make 
these  emotional  experiences  live,  but  also  make 
the  reader  live  them  shall  never  cease  to  be 
in  demand. 

It  is  not  necessary,  then,  for  the  reader  to 
have  had  actual  experiences  such  as  those  de- 
picted in  fiction,  but  rather,  to  know  that  he 
could  have  such  an  one,  and  to  feel  that  a 
given  experience  is  his  own.  Effective  fiction 
puts  the  reader  in  a  potential  mood. 

(EXAMPLE  II.)  There  are  frequent  examples 
among  children,  where  this  mood  clings  to  them 
long  after  the  printed  Page  is  withdrawn,  in  effect 
that  they  become  veritable  robbers,  desperadoes,  In- 
dian fighters  and  adventurers. 

In  the  reader's  unselfish  appreciation  of  the 
poignant  experiences  of  others,  he  comes  grad- 
ually to  recognize  the  best  elements  within 
himself.  There  is  no  human  pleasure  akin 
to  following  and  applauding  in  others  that 
gracious  magnanimity  which  we  are  sure  we 
would   bestow   under   like  conditions.    Thus 

69 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

part  of  man's  interest  in  artistic  fiction  lies  in 
an  association  with  his  better  self  and  an 
opportunity  to  become  better  acquainted  with 
his  unrevealed  ideals. 

There  are  four  stages,  as  a  rule,  in  the  de- 
velopment of  the  reader's  interest:  The  more 
or  less  commonplace  human  interest  first  ar- 
rests his  attention.  Compelling  personal  in- 
terest next  wakens  his  curiosity.  Then  uni- 
versal heart  interest  grips  his  emotions. 
And,  finally,  plausible  story  interest  holds 
him  —  mind,  heart  and  soul  —  until  the  tale 
is  told. 

(EXAMPLE  22.)  In  "  The  Fall  of  the  House  of 
Usher,"  we  find  these  four  phases  of  interest,  fol- 
lowing  one  upon  the  other,  in  close  succession: 
"During  the  whole  dull,  dark  and  soundless  day," 
arrests  the  attention;  "  With  the  first  glimpse  of 
the  building,  a  sense  of  insufferable  gloom  pervaded 
my  spirit,"  wakens  the  curiosity;  "  The  writer  spoke 
of  acute  bodily  illness,  of  a  mental  disorder  which 
oppressed  him,''  grips  the  emotions;  and  "About 
the  whole  mansion  and  domain  there  hung  an  at- 
mosphere  which  had  no  affinity  with  the  air  of 
heaven,"  holds  mind,  heart  and  soul  till  the  tale  is 
told. 

Technique  is  largely  responsible  for  holding 
70 


THE  APPEAL  THAT   CREATES  INTEREST 

the  story  interest  of  the  reader  after  he  has 
once  pierced  the  heart  of  the  story.  It  passes 
then  into  the  classification  of  entertainment  of 
an  extraordinary  kind.  In  the  Short  Story 
we  find  an  ever-ascending  scale  of  interest, 
and  a  compelling  suspense  to  be  maintained, 
that  require  both  skillful  and  finished  treat- 
ment, yet  with  never  the  slightest  indication 
that  there  is  any  such  thing  being  resorted  to 
at  all  as  treatment  or  technique. 

There  is  always  something  that  must  be 
developed  to  a  state  of  maturity  or  perfection, 
and  ever  a  sense  of  leading  up  to  something 
higher  and  ultimate,  that  keeps  the  reader  ab- 
sorbed. At  length,  when  every  promise  has 
been  fulfilled,  attention  has  been  justified, 
curiosity  satisfied,  emotions  gratified,  then  we 
may  say  that  an  interesting,  entertaining  talc 
has  been  translated  into  an  emotional  expe- 
rience. 


71 


Emotion  need  not  always  be  the  di- 
rect reaction  from  a  personal  experi- 
ence; it  may  rise  with  equal  force 
as  the  result  of  a  profound  sympathy 
with  humanity  and  its  joys  and  sor- 
rows, 

CHAPTER    X 

The  Psychology  of  Emotion 

mood;    feeling;    passion;    eloquence;    pa- 
thos. 

TO  learn  the  psychology  of  a  series  of 
acts  that  make  a  Short  Story,  is 
equivalent  to  tracing  its  emotional  develop- 
ment back  to  its  source.  There  would  be  a 
hundred-fold  more  sympathy  and  tolerance  in 
this  erring  world  if  we  but  knew  the  intimate 
history  of  every  crime.  Many  a  man  con- 
demns another  on  the  instant  knowledge  of 
his  fault,  and  himself  commits  the  same  error 
later  under  the  same  provocative  conditions. 

The  purpose  of  fiction  should  never  be  to 
make  us   sympathize  with  the   criminal  and 
72 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  EMOTION 

condone  his  crime.  But  through  a  more  per- 
fect knowledge  of  emotions  and  motives  the 
reader  learns  that  tolerant  truth  which  tem- 
pers all  judgment  with  mercy. 

A  Short  Story  is  the  emotional  history,  or 
psychology,  of  the  dramatic  situation  culmi- 
nating in  the  climax  of  the  story  itself.  Only 
such  data  as  contributes  to  the  given  emotional 
history  is  needful  or  acceptable  for  the  writ- 
er's purpose.  There  is  no  single  action 
thruout  the  narration  that  is  independent 
of  the  grand  climax.  In  fact,  so  intensive  is 
the  Short  Story,  that  there  should  seldom  be 
an  action  that  is  not  the  result  of  emotion,  or 
that  does  not  arouse  emotional  response. 

The  writer  is  naturally  desirous  of  pro- 
ducing an  effect  upon  the  reader  that  is  a 
counterpart  in  strength  and  truth  of  his  own 
vision  and  impression.  In  no  phase  of  narra- 
tion is  he  called  upon  to  restrain  himself 
more  than  under  the  pressure  of  his  own  emo- 
tions. The  moment  he  becomes  ultra-emo- 
tional the  taint  of  sentimentality  will  begin 
to  creep  into  his  expression. 

The  fact  that  disgust,  fear,  horror  and  ter- 
ror are  the  easiest  elements  with  which  to  pro- 

73 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

duce  emotional  effects,  makes  them  technically 
the  less  artistic  media.  The  young  artist  is 
often  over-zealous  and  over-colors  his  pic- 
tures with  lurid  contrasts  and  degenerates  fine 
emotion  into  melodramatic  passion.  Maturity 
teaches  that  simplicity  is  always  most  effective. 
Great  deeds  seldom  happen  amidst  the  blare 
of  a  trumpet;  heroism  flourishes  most  beauti- 
fully far  from  the  applauding  crowds.  Na- 
ture stages  her  dramas  and  tragedies  in  a 
silent,  majestic  movement  that  overwhelms 
the  multitude.  In  the  moulten  flow  of  Vesu- 
vius and  the  devastating  tide  of  the  flood 
there  is  a  relentless  softness  of  approach  that 
heightens  the  emotional  pitch  of  their  victims 
to  fear,  terror  and  horror.  It  is  the  emo- 
tional effect  that  the  writer  must  make  tre- 
mendous, reverberating,  startling,  even  appall- 
ing, thru  the  dynamic  deed  that  forms  his 
climax. 

There  is  a  three-fold  status  of  emotion  to 
be  considered  in  analyzing  the  work  of  a 
writer.  We  must  consider  the  stress  of  emo- 
tion under  which  the  story  was  written;  we 
must  weigh  the  psychology  of  the  chief  char- 
acter and  the  emotional  potentiality  accumu- 
74 


THE  PSYCHOLCWY  OF  EMOTION 

lated  thru  the  dexterous  planning  and  the 
agency  of  technique;  and,  finally,  we  must 
judge  from  the  emotional  effect  upon  the 
reader. 

The  writer  who  docs  not  feel  each  emo- 
tional stage  of  his  story  with  all  the  poignancy 
of  the  actual  experience  can  scarcely  expect 
his  readers  to  feel  more  deeply  than  himself. 
The  artist  does  not  merely  see  the  pain,  the 
joy,  the  love  and  the  bereavement  that  gives 
his  story  life  and  realism  —  he  feels  them. 
He  is  writing  a  story  of  life  —  not  the  life 
that  we  see,  for  that  is  only  action,  but  the 
story  of  life  that  we  feel,  and  which  develops 
into  deeds. 

What  are  characters  in  a  story  but  puppets, 
if  they  have  no  emotional  significance?  The 
smile,  the  tear,  the  gesture,  the  look,  mean  no 
more  than  features,  fingers  and  toes  if  we  do 
not  know  their  genesis.  In  fact,  they  mean 
less  than  fingers  and  toes  to  the  puppet-man, 
for  they  are  needed  to  make  a  perfect  puppet, 
whereas  symbols  of  emotion  would  seem  out 
of  place. 

As  to  the  emotion  of  the  reader,  we  expect 
that  to  be  a  counterpart  of  the  original  im- 

75 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

pression  of  the  writer.  Is  the  picture  as  mov- 
ing and  as  beautiful  as  the  vision,  we  ask,  or 
is  it  only  an  echo  of  the  writer's  magnificent 
impression?  Of  one  thing  we  may  rest  as- 
sured, the  effect  on  the  reader  will  never  be 
more  beautiful  than  the  vision  that  enthralled 
the  artist. 

A  story  which  is  said  to  be  filled  with,  or 
to  contain,  emotion,  lacks  artistic  potentiality 
completely  if  it  fails  to  induce  emotion.  Emo- 
tional power,  expression  or  effect  cannot  be 
judged  at  all  by  laws  and  standards  of  men- 
tality. It  is  measured  alone  by  its  power  of 
appeal  to  an  individual  heart  and  by  the  depth 
of  an  individual  soul.  An  illiterate  imbecile 
can  be  made  to  weep  over  the  same  simple  tale 
of  a  child's  tragedy  that  makes  a  childless, 
crusty  old  professor  gulp  —  if  the  writer  is 
sufificieritly  an  artist  to  induce  the  glamor  of 
illusion.  Emotion  is  personal,  yet  universal; 
Art  must  find  the  touchstone  of  its  univer- 
sality. 

Feeling  is  the  common  gift;  sympathy  is 
more  rare,  and  is  the  chief  requisite  of  the 
writer  of  fiction.  He  must  possess  that  power, 
which  is  not  inaptly  expressed  in  the  phrase, 

76 


THE  PSYCHOLCXTVr  OF  EMOTION 

"getting  under  the  skin."  This  implies  the 
emotional  sight,  to  which  all  flesh  phenomena 
becomes  a  psychological  record  of  what  is  go- 
ing on  underneath  it.  Earth  has  not  the 
power  to  build  a  wall  or  a  barrier  that  can  shut 
out  human  emotion;  even  the  death  of  the 
most  obscure  raises  an  emotion  of  pity,  awe 
or  grief  in  the  heart  of  every  man  who  gazes 
upon  it,  that  will  bear  fruit  in  his  life  and 
tincture  his  own  death  vision. 

As  a  man  feels,  so  he  is;  and  as  he  is,  is 
how  he  should  appear  in  fiction. 


n 


Fiction  should  suggest  the  farther- 
most boundaries  of  the  reader's  im- 
agination, rather  than  depict  the  lim- 
ited confines  of  the  writer's  immediate 
view. 

CHAPTER  XI 

The  Scope  of  Imagination 

glamor;   fantasy;   the  artist's   right   to 

FAME. 

THE  imagination  is  the  herald  and  mes- 
senger of  the  emotions.  It  is  the  far- 
thest out-post  between  the  mind  and  the  soul. 
It  is  the  eyes  of  the  heart  and  the  painter  of 
the  vision.  Imagination  bears  the  groping 
impression  from  the  innermost  depths  of 
man's  feeling  into  the  clear  light  of  his  under- 
standing. 

Thus  we  see  that  imagination  is  indispensa- 
ble to  the  story  writer.  As  his  pictorial  sense 
it  records  emotional  impressions  and  creates 
to  fit  them  symbolic  expression.  There  is  in- 
stantaneous and  continuous  inter-communica- 

78 


THE  SCOPE  OF   IMAGINATION 

tion  between  the  emotions  and  the  imagina- 
tion. Every  undue  throb  of  the  heart  flashes 
an  impression  on  the  sensitive  surface  of  the 
imagination;  every  phantasm  causes  a  glow 
of  emotional  response. 

It  is  doubtful  if  the  imagination  grows  in 
proportion  to,  or  gains  profitable  stimulation 
from,  the  logical  and  mechanical  processes  of 
thought.  Altho  the  increased  knowledge 
naturally  widens  the  scope  of  the  imagination 
and  multiplies  the  number  of  further  relation- 
ships and  objects  capable  of  suggestive  asso- 
ciation, the  imagination  cannot  be  forced 
by  anything  except  inspiration. 

While  to  imagine  anything  means  to  picture 
it  mentally,  it  does  not  necessarily  imply  a 
physical  picture.  It  means  something  far 
deeper  than  to  visualize  an  object ;  it  signifies 
to  realize  a  condition.  The  phrase,  "  a  pic- 
ture no  artist  can  paint,"  contains  an  element 
of  truth  that,  sooner  or  later,  vexes  every  art- 
ist There  are  emotional  images  of  the  soul 
that  are  too  profound,  too  vast,  too  subtle  for 
pigment,  or  tissue,  or  language.  There  is  a 
quality  in  the  salt  of  every  tear  that  is  not 
substantive ;  there  is  plaint  in  every  sigh  that 
79 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

is  not  sound;  there  is  a  soul  revealment  in 
facial  expression  that  has  no  synonym  in  any 
dictionary ;  there  is  a  certain  awe  in  the  pres- 
ence of  birth  or  death  that  cannot  be  photo- 
graphed. 

Hence  the  huge  task  that  lies  before  the 
writer  —  which  the  artist-writer  alone  can 
accomplish. 

In  the  first  place,  the  writer  has  perceived 
his  vision,  he  knows  it  "  by  heart."  His  alert 
imagination  responds  instantaneously  with 
more  or  less  complete  symbolistic  data.  An 
artist  cannot  possibly  restrain  an  exquisite  im- 
pression, or  subject-matter  for  a  chef  d'oeuvre. 
It  becomes  an  obsession  that  cloys  his  emotions 
and  imagination  and  blocks  progress  until  it 
has  been  unburdened.  Beyond  this  the  re- 
splendence of  his  expressed  vision  will  depend 
on  the  suggestive  fertility  of  his  imagination, 
the  reproductive  power  of  his  imagery.  As 
the  Apostle  says,  with  a  sweep  of  imagination 
that  makes  the  artistic  soul  glow,  "  There  is 
one  glory  of  the  sun,  and  another  glory  of  the 
moon,  and  another  glory  of  the  stars.  ..."  * 
That  measure  of  glory  with  which  the  artist 

*(I  Cor.  XV,  41.) 

80 


THE  SCOPE  OF   IMAGINATION 

images  his  impressions  will  determine  his  right 
to  Fame. 

All  power,  then,  lies  in  the  selection  of  sym- 
bol. Nothing  within  the  farthest  reaches  of 
the  deepest  soul  need  languish  for  expression. 
If  the  precise  symbol  is  chosen  there  need 
be  never  a  fear  of  misinterpretation.  We  ar- 
rive at  the  analysis  of  the  perfect  artist,  his 
requisite  gifts,  talents  and  education.  He 
must  have  infinite  powers  of  perceptivity,  see- 
ing thru  the  canopy  of  heaven  itself  and 
almost  to  the  Throne  of  the  Creator  of  All; 
he  must  be  gifted  with  an  imagination  so  fer- 
tile that  upon  sowing  a  mother's  tears,  an  army 
of  future-bom  men  will  rise  to  carve  the  way 
thru  the  world's  heart  to  the  temple  of 
Fame;  he  must  have  a  heart  that  is  bruised 
and  troubled  over  Mother  Earth's  cares  as 
he  listens  to  a  sighing  zephyr;  he  must  be 
master  of  a  technique  Uiat  will  cause  words  to 
bleed  and  weep  and  will  people  the  printed 
pages  with  images  that  never  fade. 

Imagination   is  the  key   that  unlocks  the 

treasures  of  the  heart  and  soul.    Yet  it  can 

claim  a  more  material  function  in  its  being 

the  custodian  of  all  individual  knowledge.    We 

8i 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

do  not  know  a  thing  until  we  have  imaged  it, 
or  given  it  a  relative  position  alongside  some- 
thing we  already  know.  Thus  we  see  that 
the  very  manner  and  means  of  acquiring  and 
perceiving  mathematical  and  historical  knowl- 
edge are  applied  to  our  appreciation  of  enter- 
tainment and  literature.  The  reader  will 
neither  laugh  nor  cry  until  the  depicted  inci- 
dent is  associated  with  some  personal  experi- 
ence, or  common  symbol  of  laughter  or 
tears.  The  imagination  is  quicker  than  con- 
scious thought.  In  proportion  to  his  own 
powers  of  imagination  and  the  imaginative 
suggestion  of  the  writer,  all  relative  knowl- 
edge and  emotion  on  the  subject  are  brought 
to  bear  witness,  instantaneously  and  delight- 
fully. 

Exaggeration  is  not  a  property  of  imagina- 
tion; for  exaggeration  means  to  enlarge  an 
object  beyond  its  actual  proportions  and  to  ig- 
nore truth.  Imagination  makes  some  things 
seem  greater  than  they  really  are  because  of 
the  host  of  relative  images  that  are  raised  to 
enhance  and  show  the  glory  of  the  truth 
within. 

The  volatile  spirits  of  the  imagination  are 
82 


THE  SCOPE  OF   IMAGINATION 

fantasy.  In  fantasy  we  take  the  intelligent 
mind  on  an  excursion  in  search  of  wonder, 
delight,  and  strange  experiences.  Yet  thru 
a  sincerity  of  narration,  and  an  assumption  of 
truth  that  all  fiction  premises,  realism  is  estab- 
lished that  makes  the  tale  rank  with  original 
experience.  Fantasy  is  the  delightful  region 
of  If  and  Almost,  made  facts  of  easy  attain- 
ment. Thru  its  delightful  agency,  dreams, 
visions  and  ghosts  are  made  to  become  tangi- 
ble, real  and  commonplace. 

(EXAMPLE  2$,)  What  a  rare  delight  are  th€ 
prophetical  dreanu  of  "Peter  Ibbetson"!  although 
the  reader  does  pause  now  and  then  to  see  if  he 
can  fathom  where  the  dream  experience  ends  and 
the  waking  life  begins,  yet  he  never  questions  the 
reality  of  it  all.  Crawford  has  made  his  "Cecelia" 
a  thousand  times  more  real  thru  the  u^b  of 
dreams.  "Brushwood  Boy"  is  as  much  a  rom<mci 
of  dreams  as  it  is  of  day  doings. 

Imagination  is  truly  the  heart  of  thought- 
life  and  thru  its  operation  writer  and 
reader  are  brought  in  touch  with  each  other's 
emotional  life.  Whatever  is,  is  real;  what- 
ever is  imagined,  is.  Just  as  tender  an  emotion 
may  be  created  on  imagining  another's  dis- 
tress, as  on  witnessing  that  distress.    In  the 

83 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

one  case  we  see  pain  written  in  the  bodily 
symbols  of  torture;  in  the  other  we  read  the 
pain  thru  suggestive  symbols  of  agony. 
In  both  cases  we  imagine  the  pain  that  lurks 
beyond  actual  sight,  in  the  tissues  of  the  flesh 
and  in  the  agony  of  the  heart. 

Human  understanding,  appreciation  and 
sympathy  are  all  within  easy  reach  of  the  her- 
ald and  messenger  of  the  emotions  —  the  im- 
agination. 


84 


//  there  be  a  moral,  or  a  motive, 
let  the  story  in  its  entirety  contain  it; 
for  a  single  bald  assertion  of  it  will 
destroy  the  desired  effect. 

CHAPTER  XII 

The  Power  of  Motive 

theme;  morals;  unique  power  of  the 
artist;  sermons;  tue  unconscious  mo- 
tive. 

TRUE  art  is  always  useful.  Not  in  the 
same  sense,  perhaps,  as  industrial,  do- 
mestic, culinary,  and  a  host  of  so-called  arts, 
that  are  more  truly  skilled  sciences.  That 
which  aids,  instructs,  stimulates,  entertains 
and  elevates  the  mind  and  the  soul  is  most 
assuredly  as  useful  as  that  which  helps,  feeds, 
nourishes  and  strengthens  the  body  and  its 
sinews.  One  satisfies  all  man's  material 
wants;  the  other  gratifies  all  his  spiritual  de- 
sires. 

Art  has  something  to  tell  that  makes  men 
richer,  bigger,  and  better.     In  writing  the  big 

85 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

story  the  writer  is  fulfilling  a  mission;  the 
story  itself  is  a  message.  It  is  not  merely  a 
vehicle  for  whiling  away  a  more  or  less  pleas- 
ant hour.  The  reader  must  be  set  ahead  in 
advance  of  where  he  stood  before  reading  the 
story.  He  must  know  more,  he  must  have  a 
greater  capacity  for  feeling  and  have  acquired 
a  wider  range  of  vision.  In  other  words,  fic- 
tion should  contain  a  motive  of  the  writer 
and  have  a  motivating  effect  upon  the  reader. 
The  artist  has  a  unique  power  within  his 
grasp,  which  he  wields  in  some  measure  every 
time  he  gives  expression  to  his  vision.  Be- 
side beauty  of  vision  and  truth  of  picture,  he 
needs  strength  of  purpose.  That  moment  a 
writer  feels  that  he  has  mastered  the  elements 
of  beauty  and  truth,  is  the  one  in  which  he 
should  choose  to  bring  a  purpose  to  bear  in  all 
his  future  work.  When  an  artist's  work  be- 
gins to  make  a  multitude  think  a  single 
thought  with  conviction,  we  say  that  he  has 
"  found  "  himself. 

(EXAMPLE  24.)  Meunier  strengthened  the 
beauty  of  his  sculpture  by  subjecting  it  to  his  mo- 
tive. Volumes  of  historical  data  and  fact-examples 
had  been  written  concerning  Labor,  but  never  before 

86 


THE  POWER  OF   MOTIVE 

had  the  soul  of  it  been  shown  to  such  great  advan^ 
tage,  revealing  the  joy,  the  dignity  and  the  might  of 
Labor,  Jules  Breton  and  Millet  have  shoivn  the 
same  spirit  in  their  paintings.  Edwin  Markham,  in 
his  poem,  "The  Man  With  the  Hoe,"  has  con- 
tributed to  Art  one  of  the  most  sublime  documents 
she  possesses.  In  that  grand  poem  we  see  Labor 
in  all  her  vicissitudes:  In  want,  in  plentitude;  in 
shame,  in  glory;  in  defeat,  in  triumph. 

The  impulsive  heart  is  the  steering-gear  of 
the  man;  and  the  writer's  power  lies  in  the 
fact  that  whatever  influence  he  has,  is  with 
the  reader's  emotions.  The  elements  he  con- 
trols are  like  lightning  in  the  revealment  of 
truth  and  conditions,  and  in  striking  at  the 
heart  of  wrong  and  delusion ;  and  his  words 
resemble  thunder,  reverberating  from  heart  to 
heart  until  men  realize  the  significance  of  the 
storm. 

(EXAMPLE  25')  Tin  good  work  that  Dickens 
accomplished  thru  his  motive-fiction  would  bi 
difficult  to  calculate.  Every  story  that  he  wrote 
was  aimed  at  some  concrete  evil  or  abstract  vice. 
Dickens  did  more  than  any  man  of  his  time  to  abol- 
ish the  pernicious  debtor^s  prison.  We  find  a  pro- 
test against  it  in  a  dosen  places.  What  greater  — 
or  more  entertaining  —  sermon  on  the  vice  of 
avarice  was  ever  preached  than  "A  Christmas 
Carol  "f 

87 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

Herein  lies  no  argument  that  the  writer 
must  of  necessity  be  a  preacher;  aUho 
it  is  not  inapt  to  suggest  that  the  majority  of 
licensed  preachers  abandon  their  dry-as-dust 
sermons  and  adopt  fiction  as  the  opening 
wedge  to  the  hearts  of  their  ennuied  congre- 
gations. But  the  writer  stands  before  the 
hearts  and  minds  of  men  just  as  imposing  and 
as  influential  a  figure  as  the  preacher.  He 
brings  the  Infinite  nearer  by  leading  man  into 
the  presence  of  his  own  soul  thru  the  self- 
revealment  of  Art;  he  lifts  all  men  higher  b)/ 
re-creating  the  noblest  and  loftiest  instincts 
within  them.  Can  this  tremendous  power  of 
the  writer  exert  itself  fittingly  in  a  meaningless 
story,  like  a  fluttering,  beautiful  bird  in  a 
gilded  cage? 

The  reader  who  is  sincere  will  not  tell  you 
that  he  is  looking  for  a  treatise  on  astronomy 
in  the  pages  of  a  fiction  story.  He  has  s 
right  to  expect  entertainment  from  every  fie- 
tion  story  he  can  find.  Thus  we  arrive  at  that 
which  constitutes  both  the  power  and  the  pit- 
fall of  purposeful  fiction. 

Fiction's  motivating  power  becomes  void 
the  moment  it  reveals  its  motive.  The  reader 
88 


THE  POWER  OF   MOTIVE 

must  be  made  to  feel  the  underlying  puqx)se 
in  the  tale  before  he  thinks  it  —  which  usually 
is  after  he  finishes  the  story.  Thru  its 
realism,  he  accepts  it  as  an  experience  in  life 
over  which  he  has  no  control.  Its  truth  is 
made  so  convincing  that  he  does  not  question 
it.  The  whole  affair  has  happened  in  a  way 
that  commands  both  hb  respect  and  his  sym- 
pathy; if  he  came  across  the  same  thing  him- 
self to-day  he  would  —  after  reading  this  par- 
ticular story  —  do  precisely  what  the  hero 
did.  Perhaps  he  finds  himself  in  sympathy 
with  something,  with  which  he  had  had  no 
patience  at  all  before.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  story  has  taught  him  a  lesson,  to  which  — 
if  it  had  entered  his  thoughts  while  reading 
—  he  would  have  refused  to  listen  at  all. 

Man  will  submit  to  the  most  abstract,  dull, 
scientific  and  even  distasteful  instruction  in 
all  the  world,  if  the  knowledge  is  sugar-coated 
with  entertainment. 

(EXAMPLE  J&.)  Call  it  a  story,  or  what  you 
will,  "  Th€  Ambitious  Guest  '*  is  as  excellent  a  ser- 
mon, or  treatise,  or  essay  —  in  story  form  —  on  The 
Emptiness  of  Human  Ambition,  as  you  will  find 
anywhere.  Emerson's  Essay  on  Friendship,  or  any 
sermon  or  address  ever  penned  or  spoken,  will  not 

89 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Stir  the  emotions  of  a  countless  audience  with  such 
a  tender  and  motivating  appeal  for  friendship  as 
"  Tennessee's  Partner," 

It  is  more  than  a  century  since  readers  have 
been  wont  to  take  their  philosophy  undiluted. 
They  seldom  discuss  underlying  principles  — 
elements,  powers,  causes  and  laws.  Works  of 
that  stamp  have  gone  out  of  fashion.  Yet  it 
is  difficult  to  find  a  man  who  is  not  fond  of 
airing  his  own  ideas  on  the  evolution,  exist- 
ence and  ultimate  end  of  things.  Great  artists 
are  great  philosophers,  and  we  find  their  work 
teeming  with  a  love  for  disseminating  knowl- 
edge. Man's  mind  and  soul  crave  philosophy, 
and  every  writer  commends  his  work  to  fame 
who  weaves  it  intangibly  amidst  the  warp  and 
woof  of  his  fiction  fabric. 

(EXAMPLE  27.)  A  story  appearing  in  the  Pall 
Mall  Magazine  had  for  its  thetne  the  philosophic 
problem  in  the  abstract:  Which  is  the  greater  — 
Life  or  Death  f  A  bald  statement  of  the  question 
would  have  ruined  it  both  as  a  question  of  phi- 
losophy or  as  a  fiction  story.  The  author  resolved 
his  prime  elements  into  the  characters  of  a  man 
and  his  wife.  The  man  was  possessed  with  a  mad 
lust  for  blood,  violence  and  killing.  The  woman 
worshiped  life,  A  feud  arose  between  the  two  that 
could  only  end  in  the  triumph  of  one  or  the  other, 
90 


THE   POWER  OF   MOTIVE 

The  man  at  length  won  eternal  notoriety  by  killing 
a  noted  desperado.  He  came  home  triumphant  to 
break  the  news  to  his  wife,  whom  he  found  under- 
going the  agony  of  childbirth.  In  the  birth  of  his 
child  and  her  heroism  he  saw  that  Life  was  really 
the  greatest  thing  in  the  world. 

There  is  an  unconscious  motive  as  well  as 
a  conscious  purpose  in  Art  Whether  inten- 
tional or  not,  fiction  Literature  has  always 
been  a  necessary  supplement  to  History  in 
order  to  gain  a  perfect  sympathetic  and  toler- 
ant knowledge  of  a  given  period.  History 
tells  what  the  people  did;  fiction,  drama,  po- 
etry show  —  thru  a  reflection  of  customs, 
morals,  temper,  emotions  —  why  they  did  it. 
Thus  a  fiction  transcription  of  an  episode  dur- 
ing a  given  time  —  if  it  be  the  inner  truth  — 
reveals  reasons  for  general  conditions  that  we 
otherwise  might  never  have  guessed. 

(EXAMPLE  28,)  Whether  it  was  Kipling's  con- 
scious motive  or  not  to  give  to  his  readers  an  his- 
torical  and  motivating  impression  of  England's 
foothold  in  India,  he  has  accomplished  that  end  an 
hundred-fold  times  stronger  than  any  contempora- 
neous history.  Running  thru  his  tales  of  British 
India  is  a  history  of  heroism,  sacrifice,  patriotism, 
and  almost  fanaticism,  of  the  English  soldier  and 
colonist  thai  is  not  surpassed  in  splendor  in  all  his- 

91 


ART   IN    SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

tory.  The  awe-inspiring  heat,  the  loneliness  of 
exile,  the  man-killing  insects,  reptiles,  and  beasts, 
the  half-score  years  of  unbroken  service,  the  pa- 
tience under  galling  situations,  the  thirst  and  dread 
disease  —  and  the  British  man  staring,  grinning,  de- 
fying it  all,  but  never  flinching! 

Fiction's  form  of  narration  can  never  be  vi- 
olated by  the  introduction  of  a  didactic  note. 
Yet  it  may  teach  us  Geography  thru  v^on- 
der  and  adventure;  Science,  by  filling  it  with 
heart  interest ;  Mathematics,  by  means  of  tales 
of  deduction  and  induction ;  and  even  Natural 
History  and  other  subjects  when  they  are  em- 
ployed as  a  setting. 

We  must  never  lose  sight  of  essentials,  how- 
ever, as  long  as  we  are  dealing  with  fiction. 
There  must  be  a  story  to  tell! 

Fiction  cannot  correctly  be  prostituted  as  a 
political  screed;  it  cannot  be  foisted  as  prop- 
aganda; it  cannot  become  a  thinly  disguised 
tract;  it  cannot  utter  a  shriek  of  personal 
opinion.  Fiction  knows  no  creed ;  no  color ; 
no  race;  no  politics.  It  is  impartial,  unparti- 
san,  impersonal,  just,  kind,  tolerant,  sympa- 
thetic, good,  moral,  not  unreligious,  and  on 
the  side  of  righteous  law. 

92 


Setting  should  be  broken  up  into  bits, 
so  that  it  ztnll  mingle  in  the  form  of 
familiar  particles  with  every  portion 
of  the  story. 

CHAPTER  XIII 

The  Influence  of  Atmosphere 

COLOR  OF  medium;  metaphor;  atmosphere 

AS  AN  abstract  QUALITY;  TWO  ASPECTS. 

ATMOSPHERE  is  the  hand-maid  of  illu- 
sion.  It  is  the  magic  exhalation  of  in- 
dividual charm  that  breathes  thru  a  story, 
and  produces  immediate  recognition  in  the 
eyes  of  the  heart.  Atmosphere  is  the  evan- 
escent inspiration  of  the  writer  that  creates  the 
personality  of  the  story. 

The  quality  of  good  atmosphere  is  as  deli- 
cate as  the  fleeting  scent  of  the  mignonette ;  in 
fact  the  more  delicate  it  is,  the  stronger  the 
vision  that  it  will  re-create.  The  object  of 
atmosphere  is  not  to  reproduce  actual  physical 
sensations  of  smell,  taste,  sound,  touch  and 
visuality;  but  to  induce  powerful  reminiscent 
93 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

reaction.  Fiction  does  not  pretend  to  bring 
physical  contact,  but  soul  experience.  Atmos- 
phere is  an  unostentatious  array  of  symbolistic 
data,  drawn  from  the  material  world  in  the 
main;  yet  only  for  our  original  purpose  of 
setting  forth  the  spiritual  struggle  in  a  given 
fictive  situation. 

Atmosphere  is  an  abstract  quality  that  we 
breathe,  then,  and  not  a  collection  of  concrete 
objects  of  tangibility.  We  identify  the  char- 
acters and  characteristics  of  a  given  story  by 
means  of  a  poignant  atmosphere  of  associa- 
tion. A  faded  flower  carries  the  reader  back 
fifty  years,  perhaps,  to  sweetheart  days,  to  the 
nuptial  tie,  to  the  birds  singing  beside  an  open 
grave  —  we  all  have  our  faded-flower  hour! 
Somewhere  in  the  life  of  every  man  there  has 
come  a  sweet  taste  of  music  that  is  locked  up 
in  some  hallowed  closet  in  his  breast.  There 
is  a  master's  key  that  will  unlock  them  all,  and 
that  is  atmosphere  induced  thru  the  art- 
ist's craftsmanship.  The  most  charming  of 
all  the  effects  of  atmosphere  is  that  of  distance 
brought  near;  the  intervening  years  com- 
pressed into  a  glorious  hour  of  reminiscence; 
gray  hairs  changed  to  auburn  curls  just  once 
94 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ATMOSPHERE 

again.  The  phrase  of  the  poet  sums  it  up 
beautifully :  "  Make  me  a  child  again,  just 
for  to-night."  Therein  lies  one  of  the  grand- 
est opportunities  within  the  grasp  of  the  artist- 
writer  :  to  make  world-old  men  children  again 
just  for  a  night! 

(EXAMPLE  29.)  One  of  the  best  recent  exam- 
ples of  atmospheric  stories  is  one  called  "  Noc- 
turne,"  in  which  the  singing  of  an  old  song  is 
chosen  for  its  theme.  The  night  upon  which  it  was 
sung  marked  the  episode  that  lost  the  hero  his 
bride.  His  best  friend  stole  her  from  him. 
Twenty  years  passed  and  the  two  men  meet  again; 
the  hero  is  wealthy,  his  former  mti/  is  destitute. 
The  woman  in  the  case  has  been  dead  many  years. 
Both  men  cherish  the  memory.  The  man  of  wealth 
is  a  collector  of  jewels.  The  rival  attempts  to  rob 
him  that  night.  He  is  detected  by  his  friend,  who 
goes  downstairs  and  out  of  doors  in  the  moonlight. 
The  night  is  a  counterpart  of  that  upon  which  each 
had  sung  his  love  song  twenty  years  ago.  The 
rival  has  forgotten  all  in  his  lust  for  jewels.  His 
friend  softly  whistles,  then  sings  their  love  noc- 
turne. The  thief  is  unaffected  at  first,  then  the 
power  of  reminiscence  pierces  his  heart  thru  his 
memory  —  and  his  soul  is  saved. 

Rich  and  mellow  atmosphere  is  chiefly  de- 
pendent on  the  fact  that  each  of  us,  as  he 
grows  older,  takes  a  different,  and  yet  a  not 
95 


ART  IN   SHORT  STORY   NARRATION 

dissimilar  aspect  of  the  years  gone  by. 
Whether  they  have  been  happy  or  harrowing, 
the  prospect  fills  us  all  alike  with  the  inevit- 
able sadness  that  the  loss  of  precious  posses- 
sions must  ever  inspire  in  human  hearts.  We 
realize  that  our  childhood,  our  youth,  our 
prime  —  with  all  their  dreams  but  half-spun  — 
are  gone  forever! 

Taking  literally  these  unchangeable  elements 
in  the  human  career,  men  make  of  their  lives- 
lived  an  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  wherein  are 
arranged  certain  masterpieces  of  painting, 
poetry  and  music  which  they  have  bought  in 
other  days  with  the  silver  that  streaks  their 
hair.  Let  come  a  glorious  patch  of  familiar 
color,  an  unctuous  line  of  half -forgotten 
poetry,  or  a  bar  of  by-gone  melody,  and  their 
magic  gallery  is  opened  wide  and  they  stand 
enraptured  looking  or  listening  thru  the  misty 
vista  of  years. 

There  is  not  a  man  but  has  his  gallery  of 
Arts ;  he  needs  only  the  magic  key  of  reminis- 
cence to  open  wide  —  upon  a  mayhap  sordid 
present  —  some  splendid  scene,  with  its  whole- 
some influences,  of  a  more  beautiful  past. 

Specifically,  atmosphere  is  the  process  that 

96 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ATMOSPHERE 

creates  the  reader's  mood  and  brings  it  into 
perfect  accord  with  the  story's  setting.  The 
reader  is  wont  to  exclaim,  "  I  know  precisely 
what  is  meant,  for  I  have  felt  the  same  thing 
myself  1"  Some  writers  have  a  remarkable 
power  for  generating  atmosphere  and  so  suf- 
fusing their  work  with  it  that  the  reader's 
mind  is  permeated  and  his  soul  saturated. 
Such  illusion  as  this  is  a  near  approach  to 
perfect  Art. 

(EXAMPLE  so,)  Pot  is  a  master-creator  of 
atmosphere,  Thruout  '*  The  Fail  of  the  House 
of  Usher"  is  to  be  found  one  of  the  finest  exam- 
pies  of  cultivated  atmosphere  in  all  Literature:  "/ 
shall  ever  bear  about  me  a  memory  of  the  many 
solemn  hours  I  thus  spent  alone  with  the  master  of 
the  House  of  Usher  ,  ,  .  An  excited  and  highly 
distempered  ideality  threw  a  sulphurous  luster  over 
all.  His  long,  improvised  dirges  unll  ring  forever 
in  my  ears.  Among  other  things,  I  hold  painfully 
in  mind  a  certain  singular  perversion  and  am^ 
plification  of  the  wild  air  of  the  last  waits  of  Von 
Weberr 

Atmosphere  is  employed,  not  only  to  bring 

by-gone  periods  of  time  near,  but  also  any 

remote  quality,  scene,  character,  emotion  or 

other  requisite  to  the  story  in  hand.     The  time 

97 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

of  Christ,  the  quality  of  terror  with  which 
most  stories  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  reek,  lux- 
urious scenes  of  Oriental  splendor,  characters 
that  loom  above  the  ordinary  man  or  crawl  in 
ignominy  beneath  his  feet,  or  what  you  will, 
are  all  available  to  the  artist-writer  thru 
his  command  of  atmosphere.  To  have  lived 
in  ancient  times,  to  have  met  in  life  the  char- 
acter to  be  depicted,  to  have  visited  a  foreign 
land,  are  not  essentials  for  transcribing  their 
emotions,  their  truths,  their  life  —  if  one  is 
an  artist  and  has  a  fair  knowledge  of  history 
and  customs. 

Oftentimes  it  happens  that  a  person  who 
has  lived  most  of  his  life  in  a  distant  land,  can 
tell  less  about  it  than  the  writer  who  has  but  a 
smattering  knowledge  of  its  physical  ge- 
ography or  mineral  wealth.  The  reason  for 
this  anomaly  lies  in  the  fact  that  one  man  tells 
of  the  country  as  it  actually  is  and  appears  to 
him,  without  surrounding  it  with  the  atmos- 
phere of  interpretation,  in  terms  of  his  own 
understanding,  that  brings  its  wonders  straight 
to  the  reader's  or  listener's  heart. 

Atmosphere  has  two  aspects:  One  lies  in 
the  process  of  translating  the  entire  narration 

98 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ATMOSPHERE 

into  the  terms  of  the  story's  theme ;  the  other 
must  seek  out  and  command  the  reader's  per- 
fect understanding  and  sympathy  thru  his 
emotions.  The  perfect  atmosphere  is  affected 
by  bringing  about  a  point  of  contact  between 
these  two  aspects.  Both  are  well  presented  in 
the  following  example, 

(EXAMPLE  ST.)  A  story  of  the  Orient  was 
printed  during  the  year,  the  author  of  which  had 
neither  been  in  the  Orient  nor  met  an  Oriental.  He 
resorted  to  atmosphere:  "  There  is  but  one  passion 
in  the  Orient  that  is  greater  than  love  —  1/  is  hate. 
Love  in  the  East  is  numbered,  for  the  most  part, 
among  the  delights  and  pleasures  of  the  flesh ;  hate 
is  reckoned  among  the  all-consuming  passions  of 
the  soul  •  .  .  IVhen  the  village  of  Kismeth  baked 
and  sxveated  during  the  long,  terrible  nights  of  the 
dry  season,  the  Hill  of  Blessings  was  veiled  in  cool- 
ing  zephyrs  that  were  said  by  the  natives  to  de- 
scend  straight  from  heaven  .  •  ." 

All  description  is  not  atmospheric;  espe- 
cially when  it  is  employed  to  delineate  char- 
acter. Introductory  description  in  the  Short 
Story  should  be  employed  essentially  for  the 
purpose  of  inducing  atmosphere  that  will 
cling  to  the  reader  to  the  very  end,  coloring 
the  fabric  of  the  tale  as  it  advances. 

(EXAMPLE  32.)  The  following  opening  para- 
99 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

graph  played  its  part  all  thru  the  story:  "An 
Indian  sun  heat  down  with  relentless  fury  upon  the 
little  garrison  town  of  Lucknow.  There  was  no 
escaping  that  terrif.c  heat  down^  there  in  the  sun- 
baked streets.  It  could  be  seen  traveling  along  in 
shimmering  lanes  and  entering  open  windows  and 
doorways,  like  a  myriad  of  heated  lances  that 
brought  the  inmates  into  the  open,  panting  for  air" 

Harrowing  details  are  often  introduced  with 
the  mistaken  idea  that  they  create  atmosphere, 
whereas  any  data  that  raise  an  emotion  of 
horror  or  disgust  that  is  discordant  with,  or  is 
of  a  higher  pitch  than,  the  crises  in  the  story, 
will  make  an  anti-climax,  or  cause  a  digression 
of  emotional  interest.  Thruout  narration 
there  must  be  felt  a  discreet  intimacy  in  the 
writer's  touch  that  is  too  well-bred  to  intro- 
duce any  details  which  would  not  bear  pro- 
miscuous relation. 

The  quintessence  of  atmosphere  is  expressed 
in  glamor.  It  is  atmosphere  raised  to  a  nerv- 
ous, scintillating  pitch  that  becomes  hysteria  in 
any  but  the  artist's  hand.  It  should  be  em- 
ployed only  when  the  particular  story  demands 
extraordinary,  almost  exciting,  qualities. 

{EXAMPLE  33')    Poe  in  "  The  T ell-Tale  Heart " 
has  exemplified  this  principle  perfectly,  dealing  with 
100 


THE  INFLUENCE/' dP'ATMO^HEli**     '  ' 

a  theme  that  is  filled  to  the  point  of  bursting  with 
pitiable  glamor,  yet  is  handled  with  an  artistic  re- 
pression  that  commands  continual  admiration: 
"True!  —  nervous  —  very,  very  dreadfully  nervous 
I  had  been  and  am;  but  why  will  you  say  that  I 
am  madf  The  disease  had  sharpened  my  senses  — 
not  defrayed — not  dulled  them^  Above  all  xvas 
the  sense  of  hearing  acute.  I  heard  all  things  in 
the  heaven  and  in  the  earth.  I  heard  many  things 
in  hell.  How,  then,  am  I  madf  Hearken!  and 
observe  how  healthily  —  how  calmly  I  can  tell  you 
the  whole  story." 

Finally  atmosphere  is  the  color  of  the  soul 
of  the  story  that  is  felt  rather  than  seen.  It 
deals  with  the  study  and  adaptability  of  color 
values  and  the  characteristic  and  intrinsic  ef- 
fectiveness of  materials.  It  is  the  medium  of 
impressionism.  If  emotion  be  the  soul  of  the 
story,  atmosphere  is  the  breath  that  tells  us  of 
the  sours  existence. 


lOI 


Harmony  in  short-story  fiction  con- 
sists in  a  pleasing,  logical,  contribu- 
tive  and  effective  agreement  of  every 
element  in  the  story  with  its  climax- 
situation. 

CHAPTER  XIV 

The  Charm   of  Harmony 

unity;  organism  vs.  organization;  color*, 
harmony    of    plot    and    theme;    tone 

EFFECTS. 

PERFECT  harmony  is  the  apex  of  artistic 
achievement. 

In  the  realm  of  music,  a  breach  of  the  laws 
of  harmony  is  a  mark  of  mediocrity.  In 
painting,  a  violation  of  balance  and  proportion 
will  bar  a  work  from  recognition.  To  ignore 
meter  and  rhythm  in  poetry  is,  practically,  to 
ignore  poetry  itself.  An  observance  of  the 
dramatic  unities  is  essential  to  success  in  writ- 
ing drama. 

Fiction  Literature  is  unquestionably  one  of 
the  Fine  Arts  also,  yet  this  element  of  har- 
monization which  we  find  so  essential  in  the 

102 


THE  CHARM   OF  HARMONY 

Other  Arts  seems  strangely  lacking.  An  ex- 
amination of  the  fiction  deluge  of  the  day  dis- 
closes the  fact  that  a  haphazard  sort  of  dis- 
cord seems  to  be  one  in  its  long  list  of  in- 
herent vices.  Not  that  the  writers  of  best- 
sellers and  worst-products  are  iconoclasts,  for 
that  implies  a  knowledge  of  traditions  and 
rules  and  the  courage  of  fanaticism.  No, 
most  of  our  popular  writers  **  just  happened  " 
to  write  and,  until  they  die,  will  be  amazed 
over  the  way  they  are  handed  money  for  writ- 
ing reams  of  stuff  that  literally  tumble  out  of 
their  heads.  Which  leads  us  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  only  a  modicum  of  Literature  is  being 
written  to-day. 

In  this  matter  of  harmonization  alone,  there 
lies  a  supreme  opportunity  before  the  present- 
day  fiction  writer.  It  cannot  be  accomplished 
at  once  by  the  novice,  nor  is  there  a  limit  to 
the  beauty  of  which  it  is  capable  thru  the 
craftsmanship  of  the  artist-writer.  It  means 
to  make  fiction  melodic  and  melifluous,  organic 
and  unified.  It  means  raising  the  scale  of  the 
external  excellencies  to  meet  the  magnificence 
of  the  internal  vision  no  matter  to  what 
heights  that  may  attain. 
103 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Harmony  is  not  a  super-qualification  of  fic- 
tional Literature,  but  one  of  its  concomitants. 
Each  fictional  creation  is  an  organism,  not  an 
organization.  This  is  more  especially  true  of 
the  Short  Story.  As  the  personal  and  indi- 
vidual organs,  members,  vitals  and  mind  of  a 
man  are  limited  and  characteristic  of  that  man 
and  his  vicissitudes,  so  should  the  elements  of 
the  organic  story  and  its  manifestations  be  in 
perfect  accord  with  the  heart,  or  climax,  of 
that  story. 

Such  a  unity  as  we  desire  would  include 
harmony  of  plot  and  theme,  with  form  and 
tone.  Plot  and  theme  set  the  pitch,  mark  the 
time,  mold  the  form  and  guide  the  tone. 
Our  soul  may  be  enriched  by  the  experience 
contained  in  a  story,  but  the  memory  of  the 
story  itself  should  become  one  of  a  personality 
we  have  known  and  will  not  soon  forget.  Our 
harmonious  story  becomes  either  an  individual 
whom  we  shall  take  to  our  breasts  as  a  wel- 
come friend,  or  coldly  look  upon  as  an  im- 
pressing acquaintance  whom  we  could  never 
cherish;  altho,  in  either  case,  we  will  have 
been  deeply  moved  and  cannot  soon  forget  the 
personality. 

104 


THE  CHARM   OF   HARMONY 

(EXAMPLE  34J  Taking,  for  exampU,  the  story, 
"Nocturne "  referred  to  in  another  place:  There 
is  an  unusual  opportunity  in  the  selection  of  such 
a  theme  for  charming  harmony.  There  is  music  in 
She  word  itself  and  it  takes  a  minor  key,  A  mood 
asserts  itself  that  molds  treatment,  language  and 
phraseology.  We  close  our  eyes  and  there  is  a 
haunting  melody  floating  thru  the  moonlit  spaces, 
"Saturday  night  came,  resplendent  in  a  fragrant 
and  warm  early-summer  night's  splendor.  Above 
all,  floating  serenely  and  regally  amidst  a  robe  of 
silver  clouds,  xvith  gem^like  stars  studding  its  hem, 
was  the  fairest  moon  I  ever  saw."  And  then  the  gust 
of  nocturnal  melody  sweeps  the  hearts  of  the 
little  group:  "I  longed  to  be  out  there  amidst  the 
glories  of  the  night  with  no  roof  but  the  moonlit 
heavens  and  the  twinkling  stars.  The  others  seemed 
to  share  my  mood,  for  a  care-free  gayety  seised  our 
hearts  and  we  went  swinging  hand  in  hand  down 
the  broad  lawn  toward  Roaring  Road,  now  a  silvery 
strip  in  the  moonlight,"  Then  follows  the  singing 
of  the  song  that  presaged  coming  grief  in  its  search-- 
ing  sadness:  **  We  burst  forth  as  tho  in  tribute, 
with  a  tender  Night  Song,  For  a  mile  we  wandered 
on,  still  hand  in  hand,  our  throats  caroling  the  music 
in  our  hearts.  And  now  the  song  seemed  to  adapt 
itself  to  the  night  scene:  the  soft  cadences  tike  the 
moonlit  shadows  themselves;  its  pure  flow  of  melody 
so  like  the  broad  silvery  moonbeams;  its  appeal  as 
sweet  and  sad  as  the  fading  stars.  For  me  —  and 
me  alone,  as  I  supposed — it  became  that  night  and 

105 


ART  IN   SHORT  STORY   NARRATION 

for  my  whole  life   thru,  my  nocturne,  my  sacred 
evetP-song  and  song  of  songs/' 

In  harmony  we  find  something  deeper, 
sweeter  and  more  charming  than  in  a  mere 
observance  of  the  laws  of  unity.  It  is  the 
requisite  of  the  skilled  artisan,  at  least,  to  prac- 
tice unity ;  while  harmony  is  the  emotional  ex- 
pression of  the  cultivated  artist.  Unity  is  but 
cold,  inert  elegance;  harmony  is  warm,  throb- 
bing beauty.  Yet  it  is  unity  that  makes  har- 
mony possible.  Despite  this  vital  provision, 
an  appalling  quantity  of  the  present  fiction 
output  makes  no  pretension  to  grammatical, 
rhetorical,  dramatic  and  short-story  unity! 

From  the  viewpoint  of  unity  even,  it  may 
be  readily  seen  how  its  observance  becomes  a 
contributive  factor  and  force  without  which 
one  can  scarcely  reckon.  Every  word,  phrase, 
sentence,  paragraph  —  and  even  the  length  of 
the  story  itself  —  becomes  significant  and  at- 
mospheric. The  stately  story  has  a  stately 
movement ;  the  tragedy  has  a  grayness  of  tone, 
that  discloses  nothing,  yet  suggests  the  theme ; 
the  sweet,  gentle  story  sheds  its  sweetness  by 
every  means  of  significant  expression  within 
its  ken. 

io6 


THE  CHARM   OF   HARMONY 

(EXAMPLE  33)  The  theme  of  the  short  story, 
"  The  Great  Temptation/'  is  founded  on  the  premise 
that  the  one  weak  joint  in  a  young  monk*s  armor 
of  faith  is  his  love  of  music.  At  length  he  is  se- 
duced, out  of  revenge,  by  a  Moorish  maiden.  The 
theme  affords  an  excellent  opportunity  for  luxurious 
harmony:  "  The  next  day.  Padre  Hugo  came  again 
and  listened  with  closed  eyes.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  thus,  as  tho  petrified;  in  that  moment  all 
else  was  forgotten,  and  Raphallah,  the  daughter  of 
the  Crescent,  softly,  like  a  cool  breath  of  night 
wind,  entered  the  burning  heart  of  Padre  Hugo,  the 
son  of  the  Cross  .  .  .  Her  music  had  died  in  the 
agony  of  that  moment;  even  the  song  of  the  hill 
birds  was  stilled  —  yet  the  air  seemed  Ailed  xvith 
the  beat  of  drums  and  vibrant  xvith  martial  music." 

Tho  only  the  artist  can  attain  unified 
harmony,  yet  every  writer  may,  thru  tak- 
ing infinite  pains,  acquire  a  style  of  harmoni- 
ous unity. 

Harmonious  unity  implies  a  rejection  of 
discordant  material  from  the  mass  that  flows 
into  the  writer's  thoughts  in  his  travail  of  ex- 
pression. To  say  that  the  writer  chooses  or 
selects  what  he  shall  use  in  the  building  of  his 
story  gives  a  mistaken  idea.  It  lends  the  im- 
pression that  he  is  intent  on  nothing  but  gar- 
nishings  and  that  he  drops  the  story  to  go  in 
107 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

search  of  embellishment.  The  artistic  Short 
Story  is  not  built  like  a  house,  piece  by  piece. 
Nor  is  it  a  collection  of  vari-colored  particles, 
like  a  crazy  quilt,  making  a  design  that  is  in- 
disputably harmonious,  but,  after  all,  remains 
only  a  more  or  less  pleasing  organization  of 
colors.  A  true  work  of  Art  is  an  organism 
that  is  born  a  perfect  product  in  the  spirit  be- 
fore it  takes  on  the  substance  of  concrete  ex- 
pression. Like  all  created  individual  beings, 
its  hairs  are  numbered  and  an  inch  can  neither 
be  added  nor  taken  away  from  its  stature  with- 
out disfiguring  it.  If  it  is  a  wild  creature, 
everything  about  it  will  be  in  harmony  with 
its  barbarism ;  if  it  is  a  cultured  being,  it  will 
bear  the  personal  unities  of  good  taste,  good 
conduct  and  good  breeding. 

An  organism  is  a  unit  of  animated  consist- 
ency. It  can  do  nothing  to  violate  the  ra- 
tional laws  that  called  it  into  being  and  that 
guide  its  normal  life ;  else  we  call  it  abnormal. 
If  the  mind  refuses  to  act  in  accordance  with 
the  normal  procedure  of  daily  existence,  we 
say  it  is  deranged ;  if  any  part  of  the  body  fails 
to  functionize,  it  is  without  doubt  diseased  or 
paralyzed;  if  a  musical  composition  is  not  con- 
io8 


THE  CHARM   OF  HARMONY 

sistent  with  its  own  laws  and  contains  internal 
discords  we  must  condemn  it  as  imperfect;  if 
a  poem  of  lofty  sentiment  descends  to  a  mean 
plane  of  recital  we  cannot  commend  its  eu- 
phony; if  a  Short  Story  violates  its  essential 
unity  by  employing  expression-material  that  is 
in  the  least  inconsistent  with  its  spiritual 
nature,  it  cannot  lay  claim  to  artistic  treatment. 
Harmony  induces  perfect  illusion  because 
all  contributive  materials  synchronize  so  per- 
fectly that  the  faculties  of  perception  become 
prejudiced  witnesses  in  favor  of  conviction. 

(EXAMPLE  s6,)  We  turn  once  again  to  Foe's 
incomparable  piece  of  fiction  harmony,  "  The  Fail 
of  the  House  of  Usher,"  We  may  begin  at  any  por- 
tion of  the  weird  tale,  skim  its  surface,  probe  its 
mystery,  scan  its  rhythm,  catalog  its  external  allu- 
sions, listen  to  its  phraseology,  study  its  movement, 
compare  its  first  sentence  with  its  last  —  the  title, 
plot,  theme,  treatment  and  effect  are  unity  and  har- 
mony  itself. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  conflict  and 
discord  are  not  synonymous.  Conflict  is  es- 
sential to  the  theme  of  every  stirring  story :  the 
conflict  of  man's  desires  and  wants  with  the 
opposing  obstacle.  There  must  be  no  conflict, 
109 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

however,  of  principles,  laws  or  standards,  or 
the  result  is  likely  to  be  chaos. 

To  have  the  ending  an  echo  of  the  beginning, 
or  the  beginning  foreshadow  the  ending,  is  a 
vital  aid  to  harmony.  All  but  the  leading 
character  is  a  color  figment  on  the  canvas  and 
on  a  par  with  the  other  unities  of  time,  place 
and  effect.  The  writer  has  nothing  to  do  but 
mind  his  literary  business:  he  has  no  concern 
with  any  detail  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  narration  of  his  story,  or,  to  be  exact,  his 
climax,  which  is,  in  reality,  the  story. 

Tone  effects  are  sometimes  enhanced  by  a 
contrast,  but  never  by  a  combination,  of  har- 
mony and  discord.  Thus  the  intrinsic  har- 
mony of  the  motif  remains  unhampered  by  the 
discordant  opposition  of  the  obstacle. 

Finally,  harmony  must  have  variety  of  ex- 
pression or  it  will  produce  monotony.  The 
same  motif  must  always  be  maintained,  but 
the  key  should  be  changed  constantly  to  afford 
tolerable  variety.  Never-ending  sorrow,  hap- 
piness, success  or  failure  ceases  to  remain 
even  interesting.  Harmony  in  fiction  is  Life 
under  the  pressure  of  Time  and  Fate,  Love 
and  Death. 

no 


Deeds  show  the  soul  of  man;  words 
his  mind;  and  pictures  his  body, 

CHAPTER  XV 

The  Human  Element 

life;  characters;  human  interest;  heart 
interest  and  story  interest;  natural- 
NESS. 

THE  two  great  fundamental  human  mo- 
tivating forces  are  hope  (anticipation) 
and  desire  (ambition).  The  realization  of 
hope,  or  the  gratification  of  desire,  constitutes 
the  working  basis  for  the  action  of  the  story 
with  the  "  happy  ending."  A  failure  to  bring 
these  two  emotions  to  a  successful  culmination 
results  in  a  tragic  or  semi-tragic  termination. 
The  line  of  story  interest  lies  between  the 
point  of  the  inception  of  hope,  or  ambition,  to 
the  apex  of  either  its  culmination  or  frustra- 
tion. 

While  story  interest  merely  measures  the 
line  of  the  reader's  approbation,  human  inter- 
est probes  the  depth  of  all  human  experience. 
Ill 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

By  human  interest  we  mean  a  heart  experience 
that  is  readily  made  universal  thru  sym- 
pathetic understanding. 

The  elements  of  human  interest  are  identi- 
cal with  hope,  and  desire  or  despair,  and 
their  phases  and  stages  of  progression  or  retro- 
gression. The  ascending  scale  in  the  major 
key  of  human  experience  and  endeavor,  is  alike 
the  world  over,  in  civilization  or  in  savagery. 
First  there  is  Life  and,  with  almost  its  first 
breath  comes  Hope;  to  realize  hope  demands 
Struggle,  and  struggle  brings  Recognitiori  that 
matures  into  Appreciation.  Deeper  emotions 
now  rise :  Trust,  and  the  even  more  personal 
relationship  of  Sympathy  pave  the  way  for 
the  crowning  emotion  of  happiness.  Love. 
The  gamut  of  the  descending  scale,  or  that  in 
the  minor  key,  begins  the  same,  with  Life  and 
Hope  that  leads  to  Struggle.  Here  the  tide 
changes  with  the  advent  of  Failure  that,  at 
the  most,  wins  fellow-Pity.  In  this  descend- 
ing scale,  human  interest  deepens,  according 
to  the  stage  at  which  a  story  arrives  at  the  end. 
It  may  terminate  with  dull  Despair;  or  re-as- 
cend the  heights  to  Sacrifice  that  leads  to  Re- 
nunciation, maybe  to  Death. 

112 


THE   HUMAN   ELEMENT 

The  game  is  Life ;  the  players  are  the  human 
Emotions ;  the  Prize  is  the  human  heart. 

The  effective  transmission  of  the  writer's 
appeal  to  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  reader  de- 
pends upon  their  mutual  recognition  and  in- 
terpretation of  human  brotherhood.  We  all 
have  the  capacity  for  love  and  hate ;  goodness 
and  transgression ;  happiness  and  sorrow.  We 
need  only  be  shown  examples  of  these  emo- 
tional vicissitudes  to  recognize  them,  tho 
humanity  is  so  perverse  in  its  whims  and  vaga- 
ries, that  we  may  be  at  loss  to  understand 
them.'  We  have  to  bear  in  mind  that  human 
nature  is  fickle  even  at  its  best  and  that  char- 
acters are  subject  to  this  defect  and  incon- 
sistency. The  reader  demands,  however, 
that  there  be  well-defined  reasons  for  incon- 
sistencies. 

For  a  man  to  be  and  to  act  with  natural- 
ness is  a  matter  of  personal  equation.  Our 
judgment  of  his  actions  should  be  tempered 
by  a  three-fold  consideration :  First,  we  may 
concede  the  universal  heart  to  man,  blessed 
with  eternal  hope  and  cursed  with  primeval 
desire ;  second,  we  must  tolerate  the  individual 
heart  of  man,  which  we  call  temperament,  that 
"3 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

makes  or  mars  his  life  according  to  his  moral 
stamina  and  will-power;  third,  we  must  con- 
sider well  the  heartlessness  of  environment 
which,  after  all,  is  the  molder  of  character  — 
environment  that  can  goad  man  to  any  crime, 
educate  and  cultivate  him  for  any  niche  in 
life,  crush  out  ambition  and  kill  hope,  or  in- 
spire him  to  supernal  deeds.  The  same  hu- 
man heart  may  succumb  to  almost  the  worst 
misfortune  and  yet  rise  again  to  attain  the 
greatest  achievement.  We  know  this  thru 
our  heart  instincts,  and  that  is  the  secret  of 
life's  infinite  variety,  and  fiction's  external  ap- 
peal. 

{EXAMPLE  27')  "The  Exiles,"  by  Richard 
Harding  Davis,  furnishes  an  excellent  instance  of 
the  working  out  of  the  above  three-fold  considera- 
tion, A  young  Judge,  seeking  a  holiday  and  a  crim- 
inal at  the  same  time,  sojourns  in  a  colony  of  men 
and  women  who  are  lawless  exiles  from  their  re- 
spective fatherlands,  Tho  he  is  a  man  of  power- 
ful will  and  character  in  his  judiciary,  yet  environ- 
ment wafts  him  back  to  his  primeval  instincts  and 
he  too  becomes  one  with  the  exiles  in  both  sentiment 
and  deed. 

Thus  we  see  that  for  man  to  be  truthfully 
natural,  he  has  but  to  be  himself.    To  adhere 
114 


THE   HUMAN    ELEMENT 

to  any  single  design  or  inflexible  law  in  por- 
traying the  fiction-made  human  being  would 
mean  literally  to  carve  a  wooden  man  and  to 
reckon  without  the  whimsical  human  heart. 
In  order  to  humanize  his  characters,  a  writer 
must  make  them  do  human  acts  rather  than 
to  be  merely  human  in  appearance.  Physical 
portrayal  is  the  minor  consideration;  emo- 
tional delineation  the  major. 

(EXAMPLE  $8.)  Never  once  does  Stevenson 
describe  the  physical  characteristics  of  Markheim^ 
in  the  story  bearing  that  title,  yet  here  we  have  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  examples  of  character  de* 
lineation  in  the  field  of  short-story  fiction. 

Dickens  was  inclined  to  make  his  characters 
over-natural  by  having  them  the  logical,  un- 
swerving portrayal  of  the  type  itself,  rather 
than  a  typical  expression  of  a  given  class 
according  to  the  individual.  In  this  re- 
spect, wc  may  say  that  Dickens  was  one  of  the 
greatest  melodramatists.  His  characters  were 
not  too  human  —  which  is  an  impossible  con- 
dition—  but  were  the  personification  of  ab- 
stract virtues  and  vices.  The  only  types  that 
are  absolute  in  life  are  those  whose  heart  and 
mentality  have  been  severed  thru  a  fell  blow 
of  insanity. 

"5 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Whether  it  be  a  story  of  man,  woman  or 
child;  of  mountain,  village  or  tree;  of  some- 
thing personal  or  impersonal,  animate  or  in- 
animate, it  must  be  translated  into  the  one 
tongue  of  universal  inter-communication  — 
human  emotion.  The  inanimate  and  imper- 
sonal must  be  personified,  or  humanized ;  man 
must  be  individualized. 

(EXAMPLE  sg.)  Gorky  has  given  the  human 
attributes  of  a  living,  human  organism  with  a  per- 
sonal heart  and  mind,  to  a  mob,  in  his  story  "  The 
Passion  of  a  Crowd,"  Another  recent  story  called 
"  The  Heart  of  the  Oak,"  takes  a  tree  for  its  hero. 
It  begins  with  a  bold  plea  for  human  qualities  and 
sympathies:  "Can  gold  usurp  the  heart,  think  you, 
and  eventually  wither  a  noble  piece  of  God's  handi- 
work beyond  recognition?  I  am  but  an  old  oak, 
gnarled  with  age,  more  than  half  decayed,  a  melan- 
choly figure  of  past  vigor  encumbering  one  of 
Earth's  loveliest  spots,  yet  I  maintain  that  it  is  so" 

The  aim  of  the  writer  should  be  to  make 
his  stories,  and  not  his  characters,  typical. 
One  great  episode  in  the  life  of  the  character 
should  be  typical,  and  this  forms  the  climax- 
situation  of  the  story  itself.  This  qualification 
alone  can  make  it  seem  naturally  real.  Hu- 
man characters  are  no  more  extraordinary 
ii6 


THE  HUMAN   ELEMENT 

than  human  beings;  it  is  extraordinary  rela- 
tions between  characters  that  make  sufficient 
spice  of  life  for  fiction  material. 

Strictly  speaking,  a  story  seldom  results  in 
a  change  of  the  personality  of  a  character,  for 
this  would  result  in  loss  of  recognition.  Our 
climax-situation  results,  rather,  in  change  of 
mind,  of  heart,  of  opinions,  of  belief  and  of 
viewpoint,  leaving  the  personality  of  the  man 
much  the  same  as  when  we  first  made  his 
acquaintance. 

Fiction  is  never  merely  a  study  of  a  char- 
acter; but  the  comprehending  of  another  hu- 
man being*s  motives  and  a  participation  in  his 
emotional  experience. 


"7 


Drama  consists  in  making  little  mo- 
ments of  life  show  their  greatness, 
and  the  great  moments  their  univer- 
sality, in  a  poignant  personal  appeal 
to  the  reader,  observer  or  listener. 

CHAPTER  XVI 

The  Dramatic  Spark 

contrasts;  tragedy;  melodrama;  suspense; 

DRAMA  AND  LITERATURE. 

THE  vitality  of  all  fiction  is  derived  from 
its  dramatic  element. 
For  fiction  to  contain  harmonious  beauty 
and  emotional  appeal  alone  is  not  enough. 
There  must  be  dramatic  suspense.  In  the 
dramatic  suspense  are  concealed  the  main- 
spring of  surprise,  the  mechanism  of  the  cli- 
max, and  the  dynamo  of  galvanic  effects. 

The  dramatic  element  in  a  story  is  perceived 
by  the  reader  only  thru  its^  effect.  It  be- 
gins and  continues  in  the  guise  of  cumulative 
insinuations  from  the  very  first  word,  and 
reaches  its  full  stage  of  development  in  the 
1x8 


THE  DRAMATIC   SPARK 

climax.  It  requires  the  constant  and  most 
skillful  technical  execution  on  the  part  of  the 
writer,  who  must  throw  his  whole  soul  into  it 
without  once  showing  his  hand.  The  moment 
the  writer's  handiwork  is  detected  and  the 
reader  gets  a  glimpse  behind  the  scenes,  his 
work  becomes  theatric  and  ceases  to  be  truly 
dramatic. 

There  has  been  much  controversy  as  to 
whether  or  not  drama  can  be  classed  as  litera- 
ture at  all.  Possibly  the  two  are  distinct  ar- 
tistic modes  of  expression.  One  must  be  care- 
ful, however,  to  distinguish  between  drama 
that  may  be  read  and  drama  that  should  be 
acted.  Some  forms  of  literature  are  not  de- 
pendent on  dramatic  stimulus  for  artistic  ef- 
fectiveness. Yet  how  few  of  the  acknowl- 
edged great  Histories,  Biographies,  Essays 
and  Letters  arc  not  artificially  seasoned  with 
dramatic  flourishes  and  vivid  climaxes? 

(EXAMPLE  40.)  In  "A  BrUf  History  of  the 
United  States/*  Barnes  makes  scores  of  dramatic 
promises  in  words  like  this:  "On  this  battle  hinged 
the  fate  of  the  war!"  Carlyle  takes  a  dramatic 
flight  occasionally  and  brightens  his  biography  of 
Burns  in  so  doing:  "Nay,  do  not  the  elements  of 
all  human  virtues,  and  all  human  vices — the  paS" 
119 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

sions  at  once  of  a  Borgia  and  of  a  Luther,  lie 
written,  in  stronger  or  fainter  lines,  in  the  con- 
sciousness  of  every  individual  bosom,  that  has  prac- 
ticed honest  self-examination f  Lamb's  "Essays 
of  Elia"  teem  with  dramatic  references:  "Whom 
next  shall  we  summon  from  the  dusty  dead,  in 
whom  common  qualities  become  uncommon?  Can 
I  forget  thee,  Henry  Man,  the  wit,  the  polished  man 
of  letters  ...  f "  Lowell,  in  letters  from  Spain, 
garnishes  everyday  events  with  dramatic  flavor: 
"During  the  last  fezv  days  of  the  Queen's  illness, 
the  aspect  of  the  city  had  been  strikingly  impressive. 
It  was,  I  think,  sensibly  less  noisy  than  usual,  as  if 
it  were  all  a  chamber  of  death,  in  which  the  voice 
must  be  bated/' 

When  we  come  to  fictional  Literature,  how- 
ever, we  find  the  dramatic  element  one  of  its 
essential  ingredients.  One  cannot  even  im- 
agine a  Short  Story  without  its  moments  of 
suspense,  or  its  sense  of  impending  catastro- 
phe that  does  or  does  not  come  to  pass,  or  its 
rising  interest  preparatory  to  the  great  mo- 
ment of  the  climax.  There  can  be  no  Short 
Story  in  fact  without  either  a  climax,  or  a  su- 
preme moment,  or  a  culminating  situation. 

(EXAMPLE  41.)     The  dramatic  way   of  ending 
stories   is   -fiction's   way.     In   " Markheim"    Steven- 
son has  employed  a  criminal  episode  which,  if  the 
climax  had  not  been  skillfully  gauged  by  dramatic 
120 


THE  DRAMATIC  SPARK 

suspense,  would  have  possessed  little  more  than  sta- 
tistical interest.  But  Stevenson  has  built  up  his 
climax,  step  by  step,  consciously,  yet  without  the 
discernment  of  the  reader,  until  the  climax  has 
become  something  of  galvanic  fire. 

The  chief  difference  between  dramatic  ef- 
fects and  melodramatic  effects  lies  in  the  for- 
mer employing  internal  mechanism  and  the  lat- 
ter external  machinery.  The  dramatic  method 
should  appear  to  be  the  natural,  the  inevitable 
one.  Its  effects  are  not  startling,  but  stirring. 
They  brood  amidst  the  busy  daylight  of  life 
and  burst  in  the  hush  and  stillness  of  the  night 
watches.  Like  the  quiet  that  precedes  the 
storm,  and  prepares  mortals  for  a  scenic  out- 
burst of  the  elements,  drama  seeks  the  quiet 
comers  of  narration  for  its  great  moments. 
In  other  words,  drama  has  an  affinity  for  con- 
trasts. 

But  contrasts  should  never  be  lurid,  tho 
they  must  always  be  vivid.  The  deepest  dra- 
matic effects  are  gentle,  not  violent.  The 
greater  the  appeal  that  is  made  to  the  senses, 
the  less  apt  is  the  soul  to  be  affected.  Life 
and  vitality  are  at  their  lowest  ebb  in  the  silent 
hours  of  the  morning,  when  death  and  weak- 

121 


ART   IxN    SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

ness,  the  most  dramatic  forces  in  physical  ex- 
istence are  hovering  nearest.  And,  too,  dra- 
matic effects  are  produced  just  as  readily  by 
keying  the  action  or  dialogue  lower,  as  by 
keying  it  higher. 

(EXAMPLE  42.)  In  the  story,  "  The  Man  That 
Never  Was,'*  there  is  a  passage  that  may  he  called 
the  most  dramatic  in  the  whole  story:  William 
Channing  had  been  raving  violently  at  the  causes 
that  had  brought  him  low,  when  he  paused  in  the 
soft  voice  that  was  new  to  his  mother:  "So,  you 
see,  I'm  going  to  pay  it  back  some  day,  if  I  can  only 
keep  going.  There's  a  darn  old  pain  here " —  tap- 
ping his  chest  which  brought  on  a  at  of  ominous 
coughing — "that  kind  0'  gets  me  at  times.  But  Pll 
get  over  it"  And  he  smiled  reassuringly.  His 
mother  was  struck  with  silence;  she  was  looking  at 
him  keenly  and  clutching  his  hand  tightly,  as 
though  a  relentless  tide  were  already  awash  at  his 
feet  and  she  would  save  him. 

When  the  writer  has  induced  taut  suspense, 
the  perfect  sequence  for  the  tragic  climax 
would  be  a  momentary  tranquillity,  possibly 
the  descent  of  darkness,  then  the,  not  unex- 
pected, deed  itself. 

Tragedy  does  not  mean  —  dramatically 
speaking  —  the  end  of  life  always,  but  rather, 
the  end  of  hope,  ambition,  desire  or  love.  The 
122 


THE  DRAMATIC  SPARK 

elements  of  fate  and  inevitability  heighten  dra- 
matic effects  and  form  a  basis  for  subsequent 
tragedy.  As  we  ascend  or  descend  the  scale 
the  quality  of  our  climax,  or  great  moment, 
will  be  affected  accordingly :  achievement  ends 
in  a  grand  finale ;  failure  fades  into  a  sobbing 
gasp  of  tragedy. 

Tragedy  usually  results  from  the  inability  of 
the  hero  to  overcome  the  obstacles  in  his  path 
—  they  overcome  him.  Man  must  cither  over- 
come environment  or  it  will  overcome  him. 

That  the  reader  or  audience  should  always 
know,  or  have  an  inkling  of,  the  truth  of  the 
ultimate  outcome  of  a  tale,  is  essential  to  dra- 
matic effects.  With  the  reader's  knowledge 
there  is  contrasted  the  condition  imagined  and 
feared  by  the  hero  who  is  ignorant  of  forth- 
coming events,  just  as  man  is  ignorant  of  what 
fortune  or  misfortune  is  apt  to  befall  before 
the  setting  of  another  sun. 

Drama,  in  brief,  requires  that  something  of 
emotional  and  dynamic  consequence  must  hap- 
pen in  a  manner  that  shall  poignantly  reveal 
the  soul-and-body  struggle  of  one  man  to  his 
fellows  in  a  culminating  situation,  or  climax. 

123 


To  acquaint  the  reader  with  the  meas- 
ure of  love  in  a  given  scene  or  situa- 
tion, a  stethoscope  is  preferable  to  a 
microscope, 

CHAPTER  XVII 

The  Temper  of  Love 
details  ad  nauseam;  romance  and  love; 

ILLICIT  love;  the  INCOMPARABLE  THEME. 

JUST  as  all  the  world  is  said  to  love  a  lover, 
so  all  readers  love  a  love  story. 
Tho  love  is  such  a  desirable  qualification 
as  subject  or  contributing  matter  for  fiction, 
yet  it  is  interesting  to  note  that  a  large  per- 
centage of  the  world's  greatest  Short  Stories 
do  not  depend  on  love  at  all. 

(EXAMPLE  43.)  Ten  stories  are  selected 
from  various  collections  at  hand  —  Hve  having  a 
powerful  love  motive,  and  -five  without  any  love  mo- 
tive at  all:  i^ove  stories:  (i)  A  New  England  Nun; 
(2)  La  Morte  Amoreuse;  (3)  Mrs.  Knollys;  (4) 
La  Grande  Breteche;  (5)  Without  Benefit  of 
Clergy.  Stories  in  which  love  is  not  considered: 
(i)  The  Black  Cat;  (2)  Markheim;  (3)  The  Ambi- 
tious Guest;  (4)  The  Man  Who  Was;  (5)  An 
124 


THE  TEMPER  OF   LOVE 

Occurrence  at  Owl  Creek  Bridge,    The  latter  are 
much  easier  to  find. 

The  novice  usually  chooses  a  love  theme,  or 
culmination,  for  his  story  because  of  its  uni- 
versal appeal,  or  because  of  his  intimate 
knowledge  or  experience  of  a  case  in  point,  or 
because  he  tries  to  imitate  one  of  the  popular 
stories  of  his  own  or  of  another  day.  It  takes 
both  courage  and  skill  to  depart  from  the 
love  motive.  Experience  sooner  or  later 
leaches  that  the  love  story  is  after  all  the  most 
difficult  kind  to  write. 

There  is  a  certain  crudity  about  the  stronger 
passions,  such  as  hatred,  criminality  and  coni- 
bativeness  that  make  them  more  simple  to  elu- 
cidate than  the  tenderer  passion  of  love.  Love 
laid  on  with  a  heavy  hand  or  brush  makes  a 
caricature  of  it.  I-ovc's  natal  atmosphere  is 
gentleness,  tenderness  and  sweetness.  It 
languishes  under  the  brutal  hand  in  fiction 
just  as  it  does  in  life.  That  fiction  only  can 
l>e  made  natural  and  real  which  images  life's 
largest  and  tenderest  moments  in  normal  and 
consistent  human  behavior  and  action. 

There  seems  to  be  an  almost  universal  mis- 
use of  the  word  Romance  as  a  synonym  for 

125 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Love.  That  youth  may  be  affected  with  the 
feelings  of  Romance  and  Love  at  the  same 
period,  or  that  the  romance  peoples  are  apt  to 
indulge  more  in  the  tender  passion  of  love,  or 
that  love  and  romance  dwell  in  the  same  king- 
dom of  beautiful  imaginings,  does  not  make 
them  interchangeable  terms.  Romance  is  an 
idealistic  mood  that  may  journey  alone  and 
abhors  physical  being ;  Love  is  an  ecstatic  emo- 
tion that  cannot  live  alone,  and  craves  material 
existence  and  contact. 

Love  has  nearly  as  many  phases  of  expres- 
sion as  fiction  has.  Excessive  desire  for  any 
object,  cause  or  person  may  be  called  love.  Its 
range  of  activity  may  be  anywhere  from  bes- 
tial desire  to  spiritual  affection.  The  same 
conventions  of  decency  and  sexual  relations 
that  we  recognize  and  observe  in  society  must 
be  practiced  by  the  creatures  of  fiction. 
Again,  we  are  permitted  to  mirror  all  phases 
of  life  and  existence  that  will  bear  the  familiar 
gaze  and  promiscuous  discussion  of  all  clean- 
minded  people. 

The  question  of  morals  in  fiction  is  regu- 
lated by  contemporaneous  conventions.  Boc- 
caccio's most  licentious  story  is  but  a  reflection 
126 


THE  TEMPER  OF  LOVE 

of  the  conversational  topic  of  the  day  in  smart 
circles;  de  Maupassant's  risque  love  affairs 
mirror  the  broad  parlance  of  the  volatile 
French  people.  Now,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
Twentieth  Century,  fiction  and  drama  seem 
to  be  swinging  to  the  broadest  gauge  once 
again.  Plays  like  **  Mrs.  Warren's  Profes- 
sion "  and  "  Damaged  Goods  *'  are  attended  by 
throngs,  and  the  intimate  illicit  experience  de- 
picted in  the  book,  "  Three  Weeks,"  outsells 
the  best  sellers.  Under  the  more  or  less  Puri- 
tanical guise  of  social  house-cleaning,  we  find 
writers  —  some  astute,  others  sincere  —  turn- 
ing to  that  diversion  of  sexual  passion  known 
as  White  Slavery  as  a  potential  and  profitable 
source  of  fiction.  Sexual  desire  and  love 
should  remain  a  proscribed  theme  in  fiction 
just  as  long  as  it  continues  to  be  a  proscribed 
practice  in  society.  Seldom  do  we  find  the 
subject  treated  with  a  sanctity  that  warrants 
its  use  at  all.  Using  it  as  a  motive  in  fiction 
practically  compels  the  inartistic  writer  to  em- 
ploy it  either  salaciously  or  suggestively  in 
order  to  attain  his  emotional  and  dramatic 
effects.  Now  and  again,  we  find  the  sexual- 
love  stories  written  ostensibly  as  propaganda. 
127 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Having  discussed  sexual  love,  we  enter  upon 
a  limitless  field  of  noble  affection  that  extends 
all  the  way  from  love  of  children  (parent- 
hood) to  love  of  country  (patriotism),  with  a 
myriad  of  stations  between.  Above  terrestrial 
love  is  the  spiritual  love,  or  faith  (religion), 
which  is  an  inexhaustible  realm  in  itself,  be- 
cause of  the  dramatic  fervor  of  man's  belief 
and  the  ecstatic  beauty  of  his  spiritual  emo- 
tions. Because  of  the  religious  laxity  of  the 
age,  we  find  this  field  almost  neglected. 

Again  we  turn  to  life  for  guidance  and  find 
man's  love  for  woman  the  most  popular  love 
in  the  world,  hence  the  most  prevalent  in  fic- 
tion. A  curious  feature  of  the  successful  de- 
piction of  love  is  that  the  story  practically 
ceases  at  the  moment  of  love's  realization. 
The  tolerable  conditions  of  love  for  the 
reader's  participation,  are  either  in  anticipat- 
ing or  reminiscing  in  the  hero's  love  affair. 
What  lovers  say  and  do  after  their  mutual 
love  is  avowed,  again  takes  life  for  its  prece- 
dent—  the  writer  leaves  them  alone  as  much 
as  possible.  The  tender  avowal  itself  usually 
forms  the  climax  of  a  story.  How  much  of 
it  should  be  transcribed  is  a  matter  of  delicate, 
128 


THE  TEMPER  OF   LOVE 

refined  and  skillful  selection.  It  is  a  matter 
not  too  deep,  but  too  personally  sacred  for  ut- 
terance. Oftentimes  the  writer  fails  to  re- 
member that  tho  his  head  may  be  full  of 
ready  dialogue,  yet  the  hero  —  to  be  humanly 
consistent  —  feels  too  deeply  for  voluble  utter- 
ance. It  is  a  well-earned  aspersion  that  de- 
rides inartistic  fiction  by  saying  that  "  That  is 
the  way  people  make  love  in  books ! " 

Love  may  be  said  to  be  an  incomparable 
theme,  not  merely  because  of  its  pleasurable 
esthetic  strain,  and  because  it  is  the  font  of 
all  human  desire,  but  also  for  its  great  plot 
power  in  being  so  flexibly  potential  as  to 
change  at  will  any  character  to  whom  it  is 
applied. 


129 


Fiction  should  be  no  less  real  than 
life  itself;  it  is  not  a  mental  excur- 
sion, but  a  soul  experience  that  en- 
riches the  mind,  mellows  the  heart 
and  gives  life  a  deeper  significance. 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

The  Poignancy  of  Effect 

climax;  vividness;  plausibility;  art  for 
art's  sake;  to  win  fame;  when  all  is 
said  and  done. 

WE  return  to  one  of  our  original  prem- 
ises: the  vision  is  all-in-all.  Vision 
shall  be  the  writer's  chief  inspiration;  Art 
shall  be  his  infallible  guide.  The  object  of 
the  story  shall  be  to  give  an  outward  and  visi- 
ble expression  to  an  inward  and  spiritual  im- 
pression or  struggle.  That  a  reader  shall  be 
entertained,  edified  and  deeply  moved  shall 
not  be  the  leading  motive  and  object,  but  fol- 
low as  a  normal  and  natural  consequence.  To 
please  the  reader,  the  editor  or  the  advertising 
manager  is  incidental. 

130 


THE  POIGNANCY  OF  EFFECT 

To  make  the  reader  see,  feel  and  appreciate 
the  vision,  just  as  he  sees,  feels  and  appreci- 
ates it  himself,  is  not  only  the  writer's  duty  to 
Art,  but  the  logical  fulfillment  of  his  calling. 
Thus  it  may  be  seen  that  the  writer  —  by  mak- 
ing the  spiritual  struggle  worthy  of  his  steel, 
the  vision  a  fit  tenant  for  the  soul,  and  his 
mode  of  expression  consistent  with  the  propor- 
tions of  his  impression  —  builds  a  structure 
that  commands  attention  and  makes  a  worthy 
bid  for  the  hearty  appreciation  of  the  intelli- 
gent and  art-loving  reader.  By  respecting  the 
laws  of  Art  and  practicing  the  rules  of  tech- 
nique, the  writer  ennobles  his  craft  and  oflfcrs 
the  reader  good  Literature.  More  than  this, 
no  writer  can  do ;  no  reader  can  ask. 

Art  for  Art*s  sake  should  mean  nothing  less 
than  Art  for  the  understanding,  appreciation 
and  participation  of  all  who  have  eyes  to  see 
and  hearts  to  feel.  Fiction  is  but  a  section 
of  man's  life  turned  soul-side  out,  that  grafts 
Itself  upon  the  raw  emotions  of  every  sym- 
pathetic reader.  The  writer  owes  a  duty  to 
Art  only  and  nothing  to  his  reader  who, 
rather,  becomes  his  debtor  for  the  service  ren- 
dered. 

131 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Look  at  it  as  you  will,  then,  the  average  in- 
telligent and  tolerant  reader  must  be  taken  into 
consideration  because  the  response  made  by 
the  artist-writer's  appeal  is  but  the  universal 
tribute  to  Fine  Art  wherever  it  may  be  found. 

Just  what  are  the  elements  that  constitute 
the  basis  for  the  writer's  appeal  and  the  work- 
ing out  of  applied  Art,  have  been  discussed  in 
detail.  In  what  measure  the  individual  reader 
will  be  affected  will  depend  largely  on  his 
powers  of  sympathy.  The  message  should  be 
so  simple  as  to  demand  only  a  knowledge  of 
reading  and  a  familiarity  with  the  terms  of 
its  interpretation,  to  understand  it.  True  elo- 
quence needs  neither  explanation  nor  elucida- 
tion to  any  man  with  a  heart.  The  reader 
may  finish  his  story  and  stop  reading,  but  the 
story  cannot  stop  living,  consciously  or  sub- 
consciously, as  long  as  his  emotions  survive. 

(EXAMPLE  44.)  There  are  appealing  points  of 
contact  running  all  thru  a  story  that  set  the 
human  heart  tingling  in  one  way  or  another  for  a 
lifetime.  A  couple  of  sentences  in  "  The  Exiles " 
have  that  effect:  "Last  week  he  had  old  Mulley 
Wazzam  buy  him  a  slave  girl  in  Fez,  and  bring  her 
out  to  his  house  in  the  suburbs.  It  seems  that  the 
girl  was  in  love  with  a  soldier,  and  tried  to  run 
132 


THE  POIGNANCY  OF  EFFECT 

away  to  join  him,  and  this  man  met  her  quite  by 
accident  as  she  was  making  her  way  across  the 
sand-hills."  And  again  in  "  The  Man  Who  Would 
Be  King" — "I  am  telling  you  as  straight  as  I  can, 
but  my  head  isn't  as  good  as  it  might  be.  They 
drove  nails  through  it  to  make  me  hear  better  how 
Dravot  died." 

To  win  Fame,  the  writer  must  move  the 
heart  of  the  multitude  and  affect  the  emotions 
of  a  generation.  Astute  advertising  may  boost 
the  sales  of  a  piece  of  fiction  into  the  millions, 
but  it  has  not  the  power  to  furnish  a  single 
drop  of  oil  for  the  eternal  lamp  of  Fame. 
Best  sellers,  like  best  men,  scarcely  ever  out- 
live their  allotted  three-score-and-ten  years. 
Too  much  fiction  is  born  to  blush  inane. 

(EXAMPLE  43,)  Boccaccio,  Chaucer,  Irving, 
Hawthorne,  Poe,  Bret  Harte  and  Stevenson  have 
all  stood  the  sterling  test  of  time,  Poe,  for  instance, 
having  increased  the  number  of  his  readers  annually 
since  his  death.  The  whole  Twentieth  Century 
will  be  hghted  by  the  towering  genius  of  at  least 
one  great  fiction  writer — Rudyard  Kipling, 

There  are  hundreds  who  hold  a  candle  for 
a  day  on  the  threshold  of  Fame,  but  seldom 
more  than  a  single  torch-bearer  is  vouchsafed 
a  generation.  Fame  is  a  favored  gift  of  the 
propitious  gods,  but  genius  is  without  doubt 
133 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

nine-tenths  intelligent  effort,  plus  a  hungry 
heart,  a  luxuriant  imagination  and  a  sympa- 
thetic soul.  If  the  technique  of  any  artistic 
pursuit  or  endeavor  is  studied  until  it  is  mas- 
tered, the  perfect  effect  will  come  without 
thought  or  effort  in  the  normal  practice  and 
exercise  of  that  particular  art.  There  is  many 
a  genius  who  prefers  rather  to  lounge  and  pose 
and  dream  among  the  pygmies  of  the  Valley  of 
Mediocrity,  than  to  serve  an  honest  appren- 
ticeship by  climbing  the  steep  path  of  Knowl- 
edge to  the  heights  of  the  Master. 

The  poignancy  of  effect  is  not  measured  by 
the  mental  capacity  of  the  reader,  but  by  the 
emotional  depth  and  appeal  of  the  writer. 
The  great  essential  to  any  effect  at  all  is  the 
continued  presence  of  plausibility.  This  de- 
mands that  a  story  appear  to  be  neither  fact 
nor  fiction,  but  a  slice  of  life.  It  is  not  a  case 
of  Actionizing  any  co-existent  facts,  but  rather 
of  creating  a  new  fact  of  life  thru  fiction. 

If  the  reader  can  but  be  made  to  under- 
stand the  characters'  heart  movements,  their 
actions  will  go  unquestioned. 

Effect  depends  entirely  upon  the  manner  of 
ending  the  story.  The  ending  must  appear 
134 


THE  POIGNANCY  OF  EFFECT 

inevitable  to  the  story.  The  end  of  the  story 
is  not  the  end  of  the  life  of  the  chief  character, 
but  the  end  of  that  particular  episode  that  the 
story  set  out  to  Actionize.  If  the  power  of 
the  writer's  expression  has  not  been  strong 
enough  to  suggest  to  the  reader  the  complete 
conclusion,  then  the  writer  has  failed.  The 
impression  must  be  given  that  the  particular 
incident  with  which  the  story  has  to  do,  has 
been  successfully  culminated  and  is  closed  for- 
ever with  the  ending  of  the  story.  The  writer 
must  have  so  prepared  for  the  climax-denoue- 
ment, that  all  but  the  chief  cliaracter  will  have 
been  taken  care  of,  so  that  explanations  will 
be  unnecessary.  What  follows  is  left  to  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  individual  imagina- 
tion. 

When  all  is  said  and  done,  artists  are  but 
torch-bearers  of  flaming  truth,  messengers  of 
the  eternal  verities,  and  heralds  of  the  millen- 
nium. The  artist's  life  must  be  consecrated 
to  a  labor  of  love.  His  feet  must  be  firmly 
planted  on  the  earth  that  gave  him  flesh;  his 
heart  must  be  strained  in  sympathetic  fellow- 
ship toward  his  fellow  man ;  his  eyes  and  his 
soul  must  be  fixed  on  God,  the  Eternal. 
135 


The  beginning  of  the  story  must  con- 
tain some  of  the  climax's  vitality; 
the  end  of  the  story  closes  the  inci- 
dent that  called  it  into  being. 

CHAPTER  XIX 

A  Study  In  Analysis 

(NOTE:  While  the  following  story  may  have 
many  glaring  defects,  yet  there  are  points  in  its 
narration  that  readily  lend  themselves  to  illu- 
minative illustration.  It  is  a  story  to  which  the 
author  lays  no  claim  to  originality  in  plot  con- 
ception. The  shorter  portions  of  the  story, 
that  are  referred  to  in  the  parenthesized  notes, 
are  in  italics.  Furthermore,  this  story  was  writ- 
ten and  published  more  than  a  year  before  this 
book  was  conceived.  It  is  suggested  that  the 
story  be  read  thru  once,  ignoring  the  itali- 
cized notes,  if  full  analytical  value  is  to  be 
gleaned  from  it, 

SACRIFICE 
By 

HENRY  ALBERT  PHILLIPS. 

PRINCE  ACHILGAR  had  tasted  all  the 
delights  of  the  Orient  —  the  Orient;  the 
lap,  the  bosom,  the  mother  of  luxury.    The 
136 


A  STUDY  IN   ANALYSIS 

sweetest  spices  and  the  costliest  perfumes  had 
begun  to  grow  stale  in  his  nostrils,  the  most 
luscious  fruits  sour  in  his  mouth;  the  rarest 
ointments  chafed  his  skin;  and  women  —  had 
he  not  the  most  envied  harem  in  all  India? 
Had  he  not  the  far-famed  Ourvasi  to  beguile 
the  ennui  of  domestic  existence?  There  was 
a  time  when  the  splendor  of  Ourvasi  the  Glori- 
ous could  make  the  dullness  of  a  hundred  other 
wives  a  tolerable  necessity.  But,  alas !  Even 
Ourvasi  had  b^;un  to  fade  in  his  sated  eyes. 
The  core  of  life  had  indeed  become  hollow  1 

.  (This  storyi  was  written  xvith  perhaps  delib- 
erate negligence,  the  writer  having  endeavored 
to  attain  true  human  interest  and  universal 
heart  interest  and  to  induce  atmosphere  by 
means  of  symbolic  suggestion,  unthout  verify- 
ing geographical,  historical  or  ethnological  data,) 

Prince  Achilgar,  the  Hindu  sybarite,  had 
taken  account  only  of  the  fleeting  delights  of 
the  flesh.  The  infinite  joys  of  the  soul  lay,  an 
unopened  book,  before  him.  He  was  Prince 
Achilgar,  the  rich  and  the  mighty.  His  word 
was  law ;  all  men  bowed  and  stepped  aside  at 
his  approach ;  no  sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  his 
pleasures  was  unknown  to  him. 
137 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

But  the  supreme  joy  vouchsafed  to  man  the 
Prince  knew  not  —  sacrifice, 

(The  hero's  soul  has  been  turned  inside  out; 
the  keynote  of  the  cliinax  has  already  been 
sounded;  the  title  has  been  firmly  welded  to- 
gether  with  the  beginning  and  the  ending.) 

This  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  when  it  is 
known  that  Prince  Achilgar  was  yet  a  stranger 
to  love,  the  goddess  of  sacrifice. 

(Here  the  motivating  theme  is  suggested.  It 
may  be  noted  that  the  voluptuous  atmosphere 
of  the  East  has  been  simulated  even  in  the 
semi-archaic  style  and  the  constant  employment 
of  rich  symbolism.) 

Ourvasi  gave  him  pleasure.  His  eyes 
burned  and  his  flesh  quivered  at  the  sight  of 
her;  her  kisses  half-intoxicated  him.  Such 
was  his  love  for  the  courtesan,  Ourvasi.  But 
Ourvasi  had  had  her  day.  The  light  of  her 
power  had  gone  out.  To  the  blase  Prince, 
Ourvasi,  the  once-beloved,  was  dead ! 

(The  obstacle  appears  that  furnishes  the  first 
dramatic  spark.) 

Thru  the  veins  of  Ourvasi  ran  the  fiery 
blood  of  a  proud  race.  Her  heart,  once 
heated  to  the  temperature  of  love,  grew  not 
cold;  and  when  spurned,  became  a  white-hot 

138 


A  STUDY  IN   ANALYSIS 

core  of  jealousy  that  swayed  her  ardor  toward 
cruel  revenge, 

Ourvasi  knew  her  day  had  come  —  and 
gone.  She  waited,  ready  either  to  love  and 
sacrifice  —  even  her  life  —  for  her  lord ;  or  to 
hate  and  kill  because  of  this  same  love. 

(The  reader  is  no  longer  in  doubt,  yet  he 
knows  nothing.  Fiction  facts  have  been  made 
of  eternal  truths.) 

Months  passed,  the  Prince  moving  about 
like  one  in  a  torpor.  Everything  wearied  him. 
His  wonted  pastimes  were  waved  aside.  Our- 
vasi, alone,  for  all  she  had  once  been  was  toler- 
ated. 

At  length  Ourvasi  determined  to  make  an  al- 
most superhuman  effort  to  rouse  her  Prince 
and  win  again  his  affection.  Tlierc  was  to  be 
a  gala  day  set  thruout  the  Prince's  domain. 
A  miniature  Durbar  was  to  take  place  in  the 
cool  of  the  afternoon;  twenty  rajahs,  with 
their  households,  decked  in  luxurious  trap- 
pings, were  to  make  up  part  of  the  pageant. 
All  this  did  Ourvasi  plan  for  the  awakening 
of  her  Prince's  love. 

XThe  emotional  interest  ie  roused  by  an  appeal 
that  needs  no  explanation.) 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Even  the  Indian  heat,  that  sometimes  swept 
in  stifling  gusts  through  the  palace  courts,  that 
day  abated.  The  Prince  was  awakened  by 
sweet-sounding  cymbals  and  bathed  in  per- 
fumed waters  by  his  favorite  eunuchs,  his 
body  anointed  with  the  oil  of  rare  flowers ;  his 
morning  repast  was  of  morsels  that  melted  in 
his  mouth,  leaving  sweet  memories  with  his 
palate.  The  food  was  served  on  the  richly 
carved  and  jewelled  gold  service  that  had  been 
given  his  father  by  a  potentate  of  Persia.  But 
this  was  only  the  prelude !  Behind  the  silken 
curtains  surrounding  the  throne-room  court 
were  the  sweetest  singers  of  the  realm,  who 
sang  love  songs  of  the  Orient,  selected  by 
Ourvasi.  Strains  of  music,  thrummed  on 
silver  strings,  sifted  thru  from  unsuspected 
places,  until  the  very  air  was  vibrant  with 
haunting  melodies.  Slaves  passed  thru 
now  and  again  swinging  smoking  censers  that 
left  sweet  odors  in  their  wake, 

(Here  we  have  an  entire  paragraph  breathing 
forth  atmosphere.  Care  must  he  observed  that 
the  reader  is  not  satiated,  and  to  obviate  this 
and  still  heighten  the  effect,  a  certain  melodic 
movement  must  he  maintained.  Both  the  reader 
140 


A  STUDY  IN   ANALYSIS 

and  the  Prince  must  be  molded  to  meet  the  ef* 
fects  that  follow.) 

Then  came  Ourvasi,  robed  in  filmy  silks 
that  veiled  her  form,  yet  left  all  the  glozving 
flesh  tints  shining  thru.  Like  a  diaphanous 
cloud  of  ravishing  loveliness,  she  swept  toward 
her  Prince.  Just  in  front  of  him  —  her  bosom 
heaving  with  emotion,  her  eyes  alight  with 
love  and  promise,  her  lips  a-tremble  with  ex- 
pectation —  she  paused. 

Prince  Achilgar  looked  intently  for  many 
seconds,  and  then  smiled. 

With  a  glad  cry  she  sprang  toward  him, 
showering  him  with  kisses,  smothering  him 
with  caresses. 

But  the  smile  had  left  him  cold,  and  her 
kisses  and  caresses  fell  like  blossoms  on  frozen 
ground, 

(The  universal  heart  should  feel  a  poignant 
response  to  the  appeal  here.  A  little  embellish^ 
ment  has  smoothed  off  the  rough  edges  of 
grating  tragedy.) 

At  length,  with  a  futile  cry,  Ourvasi  stepped 
aside  and  clapped  her  hands  sharply. 

"  Bring  in  the  dancer  —  the  music  —  the 
sound  of  laughter  —  or  I  die! "  she  sobbed,  as 
two  slaves  appeared. 

141 


ART   IN    SHORT    STORY    NARRATION 

(Antithesis  has  broken  the  strain  before  it 
reached  that  tautness  that  should  only  be  pro- 
duced by  the  climax  itself,  Ourvasi's  sobs  have 
sweetened  her  misery  with  pathos,) 

"  Oh,  my  lord,"  she  whispered  to  the  Prince, 
who  sat  looking  languidly  at  her,  "  has  thy 
heart  grown  fat  from  overfeeding,  while  mine 
lies  starving  at  thy  feet?" 

**  Thou  art  my  wife.  Is  it  not  enough?'' 
asked  the  Prince. 

"  So  are  many  women,  housed  within  thy 
palace  to  feed  on  each  other's  hearts  and  grow 
fat  and  ugly.  I  shall  never  become  one  of 
them,.     Never ! " 

"  I  care  not,"  said  the  Prince,  calling  for  a 
cigaret, 

(The  employment  of  figurative  phraseology  that 
is  characteristically  consistent  has  heightened 
the  effect  of  a  statement  that  would  have  been 
commonplace  as  a  mere  fact.  The  Prince  has 
not  once  been  described,  but  delineated.) 

But  Viamallah,  the  dancing  girl  of  the  God- 
dess of  Siva,  had  entered  and  stood  salaaming 
before  the  indifferent  Prince.  She  was  Our- 
vasi's last  resort. 

For  a  moment  her  graceful,  slight  form 
stood  swaying  to  the  opening  swing  of  the 
142 


A  STUDY  IN  ANALYSIS 

sensuous  music  of  the  Temple  players.  The 
music  quickened,  and  her  sinuous  form  re- 
sponded in  such  harmony  that  she  was  moving 
about  the  room  before  one  seemed  aware  that 
she  had  moved  at  all. 

The  dance  had  been  designed  to  suit  the 
occasion  and  was  aptly  called  **  The  Awaken- 
ing." The  opening  movement  depicted 
Drowsiness  throwing  her  filmy  mantle  over 
the  head  of  the  sleeper.  The  dancer's  move- 
ments began  to  weave  the  air  with  such  a  som- 
nolent motion  that  the  onlooker  grew  strangely 
sleepy.  Then  the  music  ceased  and  the  dancer, 
with  closed  eyes,  swept  silently  about  in  an 
undulating  manner,  suggestive  of  a  sleeper's 
heavy  breathing.  Suddenly  a  bell  clanged 
with  startling  distinctness,  and  the  wakening 
dance  followed.  The  sleeping  form  expanded 
gracefully,  like  an  opening  flower,  into  all  the 
beauties  of  life  filled  with  the  joy  of  living. 
As  the  dance  proceeded,  passion  and  fire  crept 
into  the  movement,  the  eflfect  of  which  was 
heightened  by  occasional  recourse  to  the  muscle 
dance. 

(This  entire  paragraph  has  doubly  painted  the 
picture  of  Achilgar's  soul.    No  tiresome  intro^ 

143 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

Spec  Hon  has  been  resorted  to.  The  reader's 
imagination  has  opened  the  gatezvay  to  his  heart. 
The  dance  may  have  affected  us  in  some  meas- 
ure as  it  has  the  Prince.) 

The  music  had  risen  from  a  lullaby,  been 
hushed  to  silence,  then  had  burst  forth  again 
into  a  wild  laughing  lilt. 

Prince  Achilgar  had  unconsciously  followed 
the  spirit  of  the  dance.  Color  had  come  to  his 
cheek,  fire  into  his  eye,  and  a  quick  beating 
into  his  heart. 

The  Prince  had  awakened! 

The  performance  had  gradually  risen  to  a 
climax.  The  dancer's  movements  grew  so 
rapid  and  spirited  that  the  eye  could  scarcely 
follow  them.  Without  warning,  she  gave  a 
sudden  cry  and  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of 
the  Prince! 

Before  he  could  clasp  her,  as  it  seemed  he 
would,  she  was  away  again.  Pausing  for  an 
instant  before  him  and  lifting  her  veil,  she 
ran  timidly  into  a  "curtained  alcove. 

(A  new  element  has  insinuated  itself  in  the 
story,  bringing  with  if  new  life,  strong  hope 
and  the  intimation  of  a  struggle.  The  players 
are  the  emotions  of  the  reader  as  well  as  the 
characters  and  the  prize  is  a  human  heart.) 
144 


A  STUDY   IN   ANALYSIS 

Prince  Achilgar  rose  and  called,  and  slaves 
brought  her  again  before  him. 

"  Come,  thou  spirit  of  the  air ;  the  Prince 
himself  will  give  thee  a  drink  that  he  alone 
has  tasted.  Fill  the  golden  cup,  slaves,  and 
depart  1 " 

Prince  Achilgar  had  truly  awakenedl 

"  Wouldst  thou  make  a  wife  of  the  Goddess 
of  Siva's  dancing  girl  ?  "  cried  a  harsh  voice. 

The  Prince  about  to  take  the  shrinking  girl 
in  his  arms  and  press  the  cup  to  her  lips, 
turned  to  find  Ourvasi's  gaze  fastened  on  him, 
full  of  hate,  her  eyes  strangely  green,  like 
those  of  the  jungle  stiake. 

"  What  is  thy  name,  child  ? "  asked  the 
Prince,  ignoring  Ourvasi.  An  unctuous 
sweetness  had  crept  into  his  voice,  a  winning 
softness  into  his  eyes  and  a  gentleness  into  his 
manner  that  was  strange  to  him.  Languor  had 
departed.  ' 

(We  feel  that  the  Prince  is  ^tiling  hard  to  win 
our  sympathy.  The  simile  acscribing  the  light 
in  Ourvasi' s  eyes  warns  us  to  beware  of  her. 
A  feeling  comes  over  us  that  the  poor  little 
dancing  girl  is  going  to  be  crushed  between 
those  two  mill-stones  of  the  world.} 
"  Viamallah,"  replied  the  girl  simply,  and 
145 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

there  was  in  her  eyes  a  wonder  of  new  vision, 
as  though  she,  too,  had  just  awakened. 

"  Go ! ''  shrieked  the  infuriated  Ourvasi. 

The  girl  departed  with  the  slow  steps  of  one 
having  a  full  heart.  The  Prince  said  no  word, 
but  his  eyes  had  been  the  heart's  tongue,  and 
to  these  two  the  hot  words  of  Ourvasi  were 
only  as  a  north  wind  that  must  soon  abate. 
The  censure  of  the  zvhole  world  would  have 
been  as  nothing. 

(That  the  two  are  in  love  the  reader  does  not 
doubt  for  an  instant,  yet  the  word  love  has  not 
been  mentioned.  No  excuse  has  been  offered 
for  any  illicit  phase  of  love,  because  it  is  under- 
stood that  the  customs  of  the  East  are  not  vio- 
lated.) 

To  remain  longer  in  the  Prince's  presence 
meant  only  that  she  must  kill,  so  Ourvasi  hur- 
ried away,  her  heart  scorching  from  the  pent- 
up  fire  within. 

When  she  had  gone,  the  Prince  clapped  his 
hands. 

"  Tell  the  danseuse  of  the  Goddess  of  Siva 
to  tarry  in  the  garden.  It  is  the  will  of  the 
Prince.  And  you,  Gunga  Da,  guard  her  well. 
Go!" 

In  the  Garden  of  the  Golden  Goddess  he 
146 


A  STUDY   IN   ANALYSIS 

found  her,  trilling  out  some  of  the  gladness  in 
her  heart  to  a  pair  of  mating  paroquets,  that 
billed  and  cooed  all  the  while,  as  though  they 
well  understood.  She  heard  him  approach, 
but  did  not  turn  until  he  placed  a  snow-white 
flower  among  the  shining  tresses  of  her  hair, 
pressing  it  down  with  his  lips. 

(If  this  were  essentially  a  love  story  before 
everything  eUe  the  climax  would  be  dangerously 
near  at  this  moment.  But  being  a  tale  of  the 
psychology  of  a  great  sacrifice,  the  love  motive 
becomes  incidental.) 

The  gay-plumagcd  birds  flew  away  and  left 
them. 

"Viamallah,"  he  said  softly,  "  Viamallah, 
my  pretty  flower !  " 

"  My  lord,"  she  whispered,  her  poor  little 
voice  trembling  with  the  throb  of  her  heart. 

"  Nay,  Viamallah,  thy  husband,  from  this 
day  forth.     I  have  said  it !  " 

But  Viamallah  had  begun  to  weep  bitterly, 
and  the  Prince  with  a  distress,  the  like  of 
which  he  had  never  known,  sheltered  her  tiny 
flower-crowned  head  on  his  breast, 

(An  action  of  this  sort  has  an  appeal  that  is 

likely  to  xvin  the  first  portion  of  sympathy  and 

compassion    for    the    Prince    from    the   reader. 


ART  IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

The  reader  submits  himself  yieldingly  to  the 
plea  of  the  Prince.) 

"  No  —  no !  I  may  not  become  thy  — 
wife—" 

"  Viamallah !  "  In  the  word  was  a  world 
of  gentle  reproach. 

"  The  woman  —  thy  wife  —  has  said  as 
much  — " 

"  The  woman  —  no  longer  my  wife  —  Hes ! 
Viamallah,  come  now  before  the  Golden  God- 
dess. I  shall  betroth  thee.  Then  a  few  mat- 
ters, more  or  less,  arranged,  and  thou  becom- 
est,  Viamallah,  my  princess,  my  wife!" 

There  before  the  Golden  Goddess,  did  they 
become  betrothed.  Thiis  Prince  Achilgar 
found  the  greater  happiness. 

(Thus  have  we  arrived  at  the  Hctton-made 
fact.  Telling  it  in  terms  of  informative  matter 
it  would  have  occupied  a  few  words.  Narra- 
ting it  in  terms  of  the  heart,  that  should  make 
a  soul-experience  of  it,  it  has  traveled  a  longer 
road  paved  with  variegated  thought  and  fancy,) 

But  an  evil  spirit  lingered  in  the  garden, 
that  was  destined  to  add  hitter  dregs  to  their 
cup  of  happiness  before  it  should  be  full  to 
the  brim. 

Ourvasi,  suspicious  of  just  such  a  proced- 
148 


A  STUDY  IN   ANALYSIS 

ure  on  the  part  of  the  Prince,  had  followed 
him.  From  a  sheltered  spot  she  had  witnessed 
the  compact  that,  according  to  Eastern  customs, 
made  Viamallah,  the  simple  dancing  girl,  her 
successor. 

Before  the  two  engrossed  lovers  departed, 
Ourvasi  had  stolen  away  to  her  private  quar- 
ters, on  the  canopied  roof  of  the  palace.  She 
quickly  summoned  Gooluk,  her  devoted  slave. 

"  Goolok,  thy  mistress  is  about  to  be  thrust 
among  the  sour-sweets,  where  thou  wilt  no 
longer  be  permitted  to  serve  her  and  grozv 
rich.  Thou  canst  save  her,  mayhap.  This 
dancing  toy  —  thou  sawest  her  to-day  —  will 
soon  leave  the  palace  for  the  Temple  of  the 
Goddess  of  Siva.  Gather  together  some  of 
the  worst  knaves  thou  knowest,  and  bring 
this  upstart  to  the  cave  of  Rhannakikh,  the  old 
sorcerer.  Quick!  Thou  hast  but  little  time. 
Fly!" 

(IVe  arrive  at  a  decided  point  in  the  rising  sus- 
pense, preparatory  to  the  approach  of  the  great 
moment  of  the  climax.  The  reader  is  prepared 
now  for  anything.) 

All  the  festivities  at  the  Prince  Achilgar's 
palace  had  been  forgotten.    The  Prince,  in 
M9 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

his  new-found  love,  had  no  more  need  of 
them  or  their  memory.  Ourvasi  saw  this 
and  became  doubly  bent  on  her  quest  of  hate 
and  his  downfall. 

Less  than  an  hour  after  Viamallah  had  en- 
tered the  palace,  a  simple  child  seeking  only 
the  moment's  pleasure  of  her  ailing  sovereign 
lord,  she  was  carried,,  a  helpless  princess-to-be, 
into  the  cave  of  the  vilest  sorcerer  in  all  India. 

(Pathos  vies  with  dramatic  suspense  in  affec- 
ting the  emotions.  Contrast  has  made  the 
dramatic  effect  gentle.  Every  statement  con- 
cerning Viamallah  has  become  tinged  with  emo- 
tional concern  that  must  hear  resemblance  to 
the  interest  of  any  sympathetic  reader.) 

Ourvasi  met  the  terror-stricken  child  with 
bitter  taunts. 

"  So,  little  cat,  with  such  pretty  movements, 
they  bring  thee  with  thy  claws  bound  so  they 
cannot  scratch  the  heart  of  the  woman  who 
would  have  helped  thee!  But  I  have  a  way 
that  will  remove  thy  claws  out  of  my  heart 
and  make  thee  ugly,  so  ugly  that  thy  lover  — 
oh,  I  know  his  ways!  —  will  scorn  thy  pres- 
ence and  throw  thee  from  the  palace  to  the 
dogs  that  scavenge  the  city,  for  the  loathsome 
150 


A  STUDY  IN   ANALYSIS 

creature  thou  shalt  be.    Pretty,  pretty,  pretty 
—  ugh !     I  hate  thee  —  heart-stabber !  " 

(While  the  language  used  by  Ourvasi  is  sug- 
gestive, it  does  not  tend  to  lessen  our  opinion 
of  Viamallah,  but  rather  to  intensify  it.  The 
bond  of  sympathy  associates  each  incident  with 
the  reader's  personal  concern.) 

Having  delivered  this  terrible  threat,  Our- 
vasi turned  her  attention  with  glowering  eager- 
ness, to  the  operations  of  the  old  sorcerer. 
Viamallah  cowered  like  a  rabbit  under  the 
surveillance  of  the  three  ugly  creatures  who 
had  dragged  her  to  this  evil  den. 

Having  mixed  the  powders  and  potions  of 
his  concoction  in  an  earthen  basin,  the  old 
priest  built  a  fire  of  fagots  before  a  battered 
idol  of  the  God  of  the  Underworld,  and  there 
he  and  Ourvasi  stooped  low  over  the  brewing 
pot,  altho  the  vile  odor  it  emitted  sickened 
even  the  callous  villains  in  charge  of  Viamal- 
lah, while  she  shrank  farther  and  farther  back, 
as  tho  she  would  lose  her  senses  from 
fright. 

(The  insignificance  of  the  girVs  efforts  and 
tiny  Person  in  the  face  of  the  enforced  environ- 
ment introduces  the  tragic  note.  Suggestion  is 
rife    in    almost    every    line.    Thus    thru    indi- 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

red  allusion  the  reader  has  the  greater  privilege 
of  drawing  his  own  conclusions,) 

At  length  a  green  vapor  rose  from  the  pot, 
and  the  sorcerer  sprang  up  with  a  few  mut- 
tered words.  Ourvasi  rose  too,  a  malignant 
glee  in  her  eyes.  Viamallah  gave  a  little 
moan  of  horror  as  the  three  ruffians,  at  a 
signal  from  the  priest,  took  a  firm  grip  on  her 
body  and  raised  her  in  the  air.  The  priest, 
with  wonderfully  rapid  movements,  was 
making  a  sort  of  poultice  of  the  steaming 
green  mass,  taking  particular  care  that  none 
of  it  touched  his  iiesh. 

''Now!"  he  muttered  to  the  waiting  men. 

(No  direct  reference  is  made  to  the  exact  ob^ 
ject  and  possible  effect  of  the  poultice,  or  to 
the  nature  of  the  punishment  in  store  for  Via- 
mallah, yet  thru  continued  suggestion  the 
reader's  imagination  speculates  until  his  emo- 
tions are  wrought  with  suspense.) 

The  child  gave  a  tiny  shriek  and  then  sub- 
sided into  a  convulsion  of  hysterics,  laughing 
horribly.  The  priest  approached,  carefully 
holding  the  bandage  in  front  of  him,  the  others 
all  drawing  back.  In  her  agony  the  girl  threw 
back  her  head,  exposing  her  pretty  features, 
152 


A  STUDY   IN   ANALYSIS 

her  large,  pain-stricken  eyes  and  her  soft, 
pretty  neck.  With  a  dexterous  movement, 
the  sorcerer  pressed  the  bandage  tight  against 
the  pretty  vision! 

The  child  shuddered,  uttered  a  little  moan 
and  then  became  mercifully  unconscious. 
The  men  had  dropped  their  burden  with  a  cry 
of  revulsion,  as  the  smell  of  corroding  flesh 
reached  their  nostrils. 

(Not  once,  even  now  are  the  specific  details  of 
the  mutilation  given.  There  is  the  greatest 
danger  in  a  scene  of  this  kind  of  producing 
disgust  instead  of  inducing  horror.  The  more 
artistic  way  is  to  describe  the  physical  deed 
thru  emotional  reaction.  The  idea  is  not 
to  make  the  reader  see  the  deed,  but  to  feel  its 
effect.) 

They  brought  their  fragile  burden  of  dis- 
figured flesh  and  laid  it  pn  ot\€  corner  of  the 
silken  draperies  of  the  throne,  before  which, 
as  the  sylph-like  dans^use  with  beautiful  face 
and  eyes  like  living  pools  of  lapis  lazuli,  she 
had  won  the  heart  of  a  prince.  Over  her  face 
still  lay  the  same  gauzy  veil  that  had  so  tanta- 
lizingly  hid  it  from  the  Prince's  enchanted 
gaze.  But  over  the  veil,  now  and  forever,  lay 
an  impalpable  blanket  of  darkness.  She  who 
153 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

had  never  known  an  unhappy  moment,  now 
held,  wretchedly  imprisoned  in  her  young 
heart,  the  woes  of  a  life's  experience.  She 
lay  there,  numbed  with  the  physical  pain  and 
mental  torture  of  it  all,  when  thru  her  dim 
perceptions  came  the  realization  that  someone 
had  entered  the  room.  She  repressed  the  soft 
moanings  that  passed  her  lips  with  every  res- 
piration, and  waited. 

(This  entire  paragraph  is  replete  with  symbols 
of  the  wretched  little  dancer's  spiritual  strug- 
gle. The  pathos  it  will  be  noted  is  attained 
thru  contrasting  the  remnants  of  one's  broken 
hope  with  the  unfeeling  objects  of  one's 
unfulfilled  desire.  The  essence  of  all  pathos 
lies  in  the  irrevocable  fact,  that  despite  our 
shattered  heart  and  dreams  the  world  goes 
blithely  on,  amid  sunshine,  laughter  and  eter- 
nal  hope.  The  world  will  never  die  of  a  broken 
heart  —  thank    heaven!  —  though    men    do,) 

It  was  the  Prince,  his  swathy  countenance 
wreathed  in  smiles  as  he  communed  with  him- 
self. His  eyes  were  lighted  with  lanterns  of 
love  as  he  gazed  out  on  the  city  toward  the 
Temple  of  Siva,  His  sweet  reveries  were  dis- 
turbed by  the  sudden  appearance  of  one  of 
Ourvasi's  slaves  bearing  a  letter. 
154 


A  STUDY  IN  ANALYSIS 

Without  a  word  the  Prince  took  it,  smiling 
at  the  sight  of  his  wife's  handwriting.  He 
read  it  thru  aloud  once,  its  significance  be- 
ing too  remote  from  his  imminent  thoughts 
to  realize  at  a  glance. 

"  You  despise  my  love  and  you  love  instead  the 
dancing  girl  —  whom  I  have  returned  to  you 
with  all  my  esteem.  Ourvasx.'' 

A  tiny  moan  reached  his  ear.  He  turned 
and  saw  the  crumpled  bundle,  draped  with 
tarnished  silk.  A  sob  broke  from  his  twitch- 
ing lips. 

(The  Prince  is  depicted  enjoying,  in  anticipa* 
tion,  all  the  sweet  glories  of  a  pure  love  before 
the  cruel  blow  of  reality  gently  bursts  upon 
him.  The  reader  appreciates  this  momentary 
respite  and  lull  in  the  culminating  situation. 
There  would  have  been  something  almost  iin- 
holy  in  the  Prince's  walking  straight  to  the 
girl  and  throwing  the  veil  aside,  that  the  con* 
siderate  reader  could  not  easily  forgive,) 

"  Viamallah  —  Viamallah !  "  he  cried, 
hoarsely.     In  this  horror  he  stood  spellbound. 

"  My  —  lord  —  come  not  near  me  I  "  plead- 
ingly whispered   a   little   voice,  grown  more 
sweet  in  its  depth  of  pathos. 
155 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

"  Viamallah  —  Viamallah !  "  The  Prince 
was  moving  nearer,  groping,  tottering. 

"  Stay  !  Oh,  my  lord  —  listen  —  I  implore 
thee!  Thou  must  not  see!  I  am  but  a  thing 
—  now !  They  have  disfigured  me !  "  A  rift 
of  anguish  had  broken  thru  the  childlike 
tones  now.  "  They  have  —  blotted  out  my 
eyes ! "  The  rest  was  shattered  by  sobs: 
"  Thou  lovedst  —  a  beautiful  danseuse  — 
me  thou  couldst  not  —  love  —  disfigured  as  I 
am—" 

(There  now  comes  that  moment  of  uncertainty 

near   the   great  moment   itself   that   marks   the 

highest  point  in  the  suspense.    The  reader  has 

an   inkling   of   the   outcome,   which    the   writer 

alone  knows  precisely,) 

"  Poor  little  flower  —  my  poor  little  flower ! 
Fear  not,  for  I  shall  never  look  on  thy  face 
again,  my  Viamallah,  never  again,  for — " 

"  My  lord !  "  she  cried,  her  tone  suddenly 
tautened  with  apprehension. 

"  Nay,  thou  shalt  be  well  taken  care  of  — 
my  Viamallah."     He  clapped  his  hands. 

"  Carry  the  Princess  —  gently,  as  thou 
wonldst  a  new-born  babe  —  to  my  lady  Our- 
vasi's  former  chamber.  Then,  quick!  The 
best  doctors  in  the  city  —  in  all  India ! " 

156 


A  STUDY   IN   ANALYSIS 

(In  the  psychology  of  emotion  in  these  two, 
all  pathos  has  disappeared  in  the  evident  joy 
that  shines  thru  misfortunes.  The  danger 
lies  in  over-doing  the  re-action  that  followed. 
It  has  taken  restraint  to  produce  effective  sim- 
plicity. This  is  the  greatest  moment  thus  far 
in  the  lives  of  these  two  characters,  and  in 
order  to  make  it  shine  forth  with  its  true  bril- 
liancy, tranquillity  is  induced  so  that  nothing 
will  detract  from  it,) 

"  My  lord," —  the  voice  tvas  bcUhed  in  tears 
— "wilt  let  me  touch  thy  hand  but  once  —  just 
once?"  And  when  they  had  brought  her 
near  and  the  fingers  lay  tenderly  on  his  palm, 
he  seized  the  hand,  a  sob  bursting  uncontrol- 
lably from  his  tightly-pressed  lips,  that 
drowned  the  tiny  murmur  beneath  the  veil. 

(No  word  has  been  said  directly  telling  the 
feelings  of  the  lovers.  It  has  all  been  con- 
veyed thru  terms  of  the  reader's  sympathetic 
understanding.  Thru  the  medium  of  the 
emotions  it  is  brought  within  the  range  of  ex- 
perimental  experience.  We  interpret  the  depth 
of  their  feeling  by  a  recognition  of  our  oxvn 
emotional  capacities,) 

"I  love  thee,  my  lord  Achilgar  —  I  love 
thee !     I  go  —  happy  —  my  lord !  " 

The  bearers  heard  the  sweetened  words  and 

157 


ART   IN   SHORT   STORY   NARRATION 

left  the  room  with  trembling  lips  and  eyes  be- 
dewed. 
The  Prince  was  left  alone  —  a  broken  man. 

(Though  we  here  have  the  last  words  uttered 
in  the  story  by  Viamallah,  they  fill  us  with  a 
complete  sense  of  gratiUcation,  Any  reader 
with  a  heart  and  an  imagination  readily  fath- 
oms the  tenure  of  her  happiness  for  the  rest 
of  her  days.  Yet  the  true  sublimity  of  her  sen- 
timent is  enforced  thru  their  reaction  on  the 
bearers  who  carried  her  out.) 

When  the  heavy  curtains  had  closed  and  all 
was  silence,  he  took  the  golden-hilted  dagger 
from  its  sheath.  Absently  fingering  the 
sharp  edge,  he  paused  a  moment  on  the  brink 
of  eternity.  Then  raising  the  blade  aloft,  he 
poised  it  above  his  neck,  where  the  artery 
stood  out  like  a  whipcord,  as  tho  bidding  de- 
strurCtion, 

(There  is  perfect  harmony  of  tragic  suggestion, 
tho  not  a  word  as  to  his  mental  resolution. 
Occasional  brief  delays  here,  if  not  too  frequent, 
and  seemingly  natural,  are  bound  to  heighten 
the  inevitable  climax,) 

"  Farewell,    Viamallah,    my    little    crushed 
flower  —  farewell !  " 
Then    an    overwhelming    fear    seized    the 
158 


A  STUDY   IN    ANALYSIS 

Prince,  loosed  his  joints,  brought  his  hand 
quivering  to  his  side,  and  brought  his  body 
half -sinking  to  the  floor. 

Cursing  his  cowardice,  he  rose  to  his  knees, 
seized  the  dagger  firmly  and  set  his  teeth.  He 
raised  the  weapon  slowly,  gathering  energy  on 
the  way.  He  paused.  Suddenly  his  whole 
frame  had  become  animated  by  a  wonderful 
thought  that  sprang  into  his  face,  illuminating 
it  with  the  wild  gaze  of  a  zealot. 

(The  climax  has  been  retarded,  thru  thg 
offer  of  a  new  promise  that  must  of  necessity 
be  of  even  greater  moment  than  what  had  be- 
fore seemed  imminent,) 

"Viamallah,  /  shall  not  leave  theet  We 
shall  be  one  in  aU  things,  for  mine  eyes  shall 
see  nothing  but  the  remembrance  of  thy 
beauty,  and  our  sympathy  shall  be  mutual  and 
eternal!" 

(The  climax  is  at  hand.  We  know  that  the 
Prince  is  about  to  wipe  away  every  stain  that 
has  remained  against  him.  The  eyes  ^  of  his 
soul  have  seen  more  clearly  than  his  eyes  which 
he  now  looks  thru  for  the  last  time.  There 
is  nothing  to  distract  our  fixed  gaze  from  the 
final  spectacle.) 

Two  quick  and  decisive  Strokes  did  it. 

159 


ART   IN    SHORT   STORY    NARRATION 

The  sharp  dagger-point  pierced  each  eye- 
ball, and  he  sank  to  the  floor  for  a  moment  in 
groveling  agony.  Then  he  began  to  creep, 
creep,  creep, —  it  seemed  for  eternity  —  grop- 
ing his  way  toward  the  curtain,  his  blood- 
stained, sightless  eyes-  a  memento  of  love's 
terrible  sacrifice. 

(While  this  is  tragic,  we  can  scarcely  call  it  a 
true  tragedy,  for  our  hero  has  overcome  every 
obstacle  laid  in  his  way.  He  encompassed  his 
chief  desire  in  life  thru  winning  the  woman  he 
loves  in  the  way  she  would  most  desire.) 

But  into  the  face  of  Prince  Achilgar  had 
come  peace.  Behind  the  physical  pain  was 
the  vision  of  the  supreme  joy  vouchsafed  to 
man  —  which  he  at  last  knew  better  than  most 
men  —  sacrifice! 

(Here  is  the  great  moment  and  climax.  We 
find  our  title,  beginning  and  end  woven  to- 
gether in  a  full  note  of  harmony.  The  incident 
that  called  the  story  into  being  is  closed  for- 
ever. We  were  interested  in  the  vital  details 
that  surrounded  Prince  Achilgar' s  sacrifice.) 

As  he  disappeared  behind  the  heavy  curtain, 
his  cry  rang  ghostlike  thru  the  great  hall: 
"  Viamallah,  I  come  —  wait,  Viamallah !  " 

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